


Poems Written Before [Climbing Down a Fire Escape]

by MrsMess



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: A certain amount of, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Books, But also, Conversations, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Friendship, Infidelity, Jealousy, Kissing, Love, Music, Roommates, Sex, Slow Burn, a bigger amount of, all that good shit, big and complicated, kind of, possibly some, what with the revival and all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 65,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22491805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMess/pseuds/MrsMess
Summary: “[...] Can you believe that you and I are like roommates now? How did that happen?”He shrugs, decides to be kind.“Fate.”She smiles broadly.“Must be.” She shakes her head. “Yesterday was awkward like nothing else, but- right now this doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. What do you say? Friends?”“It’s what we’ve always been as far as I’m concerned.”
Relationships: Rory Gilmore/Jess Mariano
Comments: 242
Kudos: 593





	1. The Year[s] of Magical Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Roommate au prompt by fayevalcntine
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> This fic contains some very iffy behaviour in regards to the traditional morals of a monogamous relationship (also known as drama of the week in your twenties). If you’re ill affected by the near vicinity of infidelity; turn back now.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jess is ditched by Rory on open night and meets Nicks. In which Rory looks for a room to rent and finds one in the apartment of Dominique.

**April 1, 2006**

Jess watches her leave. The door closes behind her. It is what it is. Great. What does that even mean? What a thing to say. Truncheon is silent, but the voices of all the people still linger. Her voice too. She’s been here now and he’ll never unsee it. 

He should have done something different, earlier. Just twenty minutes ago, hell, just ten, five. To feel how he felt just five minutes ago. He retraces his steps, but realises he’s going to have to live his life backwards for a chance to fix things between them. He should have done something different when he went to Hartford, New Haven, when he came for his car - like that’s what he came back for. He should have done something different three years ago, four, he should have done everything different. Oh well. It’s too late. 

And did he really offer her to make up whatever story she wants about what happened between them? Yes. Because that’s how little he matters to himself. Will she take him up on it? Will it feel better or worse if she does? It makes no difference. He’ll never know. 

Love, huh? What little he knows about love is all about her, and he wishes he didn’t. She doesn’t love him, only thinks she might have. When? New York? Sookie’s wedding? That time on Luke’s couch? Will it be better or worse from knowing? Doesn’t matter, he never will. He can’t blame her for not feeling the same either. How could she love him, how could she even know him, when all she’s ever seen is this stiff upper lip surface? All she has is his stupid notes in the margins of her books, a few good guesses, his barren I love you.

He clears his throat, has had time to learn how to handle those feelings by now, not well, that’s for sure, but still, it’s something, the only option he has. 

Matt and Chris will be at The Hatter by now. He heads there, steps quick enough so the sting in his throat could be from the strain as well as from Rory. He’s later than usual, he waited to be alone with her, but can’t think about that without humiliation making him nauseous. However, his tardiness means loud music is already playing. Good. He spots the guys in a corner surrounded by people. Chris is in the midst of several girls, Jess recognises a couple of them, one who’s been angling for his attention the last few weeks. 

Matt sees him and raises his hand. A few of the people turn their heads at his gesture, the girl, among others. She’s cute. Jess forces a smile and meets her eyes while mirroring Matt’s greeting and signing that he’s headed for the bar. He’ll return her attention later, but he has to get some drink down first. Definitely more than some tonight. 

He drowns in the rough music, in the crowded room. The setting means he gets away with just gestures, smirks and mouthing words at people who says hello. After a couple of beers he’s on to bourbon and comfortably numb, staring blankly at the posters for different bands and newspaper clippings, wallpapered across the room. The music is of the noisy variety and fills his skull blocking out everything else. He distantly notices that the crowd has thinned somewhat. Most people remaining are from the gathering at Truncheon too. He looks over his shoulder, glances at the girl in the corner, pushed in between a wall and her friend who’s getting picked up by Chris, by the looks of it. She looks bored, probably has just minutes left in her. 

He turns back to the bartender to pay, but his glass has been refilled. He looks to his other side and finds a girl on a chair over, a woman really. She’s slim, her hair blonde and short, her clothes drapey, understated. She smiles at him, coolly, raises her glass. A clear drink of some sort, with ice. He recognises her from the byline on her blog, she’s putting together a book, an anthology, that Truncheon presumably is putting out. Right now he couldn’t care less. 

He glances back to the girl in the corner, she’s looking at him like she’s drowning. He’s drunk, won’t be fun for anyone, but she wouldn’t care, he’s experienced with her type, she’s decided she likes him for no valid reason, so she will settle for anything. 

Still, there is such a thing as manners. He looks back to his neighbor at the bar.

“I didn’t need another one.”

“Figured.” She speaks into her glass.

He turns his body towards her.

“Well?”

She looks at him, raises an eyebrow.

“Matt was boring me.”

“And you think I’ll do better?” He returns his attention to his drink and downs a determined gulp.

“I’m not looking for you to do better, just that you’ll sit here for a while and keep me company, so I don’t have to go back.”

“I’m not any sort of company tonight.”

“And why is that?”

He looks at her. The question is filtered through layers of mannerisms, she’s obviously in control of herself. She’s asking to be polite, counting on his silence. The opposite should be enough to send her back to Matt. He still has to brace himself to turn the words into shrapnel the way he does sometimes when he wants out; It’s how you line them up, pace them, emphasize them, or don’t. For a second he shutters at the thought that he might do okay in a poetry slam. He takes a breath and answers her question.

“The girl I’ve been in love with since I was failing High School showed up to review my book, kiss me, and promptly realize she’s in love with her boyfriend, a Porsche-driving dick currently squandering the education she worked all her life to attain. Turns out she was there for the sole purpose of making him pay for cheating on her by-” He can’t finish the sentence, he’s a delicate flower, he nails his gaze to the sticky, worn counter. “She knew I’d do anything. Ain’t love grand?”

He downs half his drink, the alcohol is making his skin numb. It’s quiet for a few seconds. He looks at her to see if any of that landed like he intended. Her small smile widens a bit. Damn it.

“So how did she like the book?”

Cold. He chuckles.

“She loved it.”

There's a warmth in her eyes, a strange kind. She’s not put off, but intrigued. 

“So let me get this straight?” She leans in. “You love someone who’s elsewhere, who used you like a tool and then chose someone else over you?”

He didn’t bank on her brutality, but really likes it. It has a nice cauterizing feel to it. 

“It’s the only way I’ve ever loved anyone.”

She laughs. It’s a short, silent sound.

“Pathetic.” She stirs her drink. “Unfortunately I can relate.”

He realizes he knows tons about her. Her writing is all real life. Real shit. Her mother died early, her father worked abroad, sending a bunch of au pairs of varying quality, putting it mildly, to the Upper West Side apartment she lived in, more or less alone for her formative years. Poor little rich girl.

“Nikki, right?”

“I go by Nicks.” She responds.

“Well, Stevie.” He swallows the rest of the drink while she laughs, again, she must like him. “Thanks for the drink.” He wiggles the glass. “It’s been a hoot, unfortunately I’m not in the mood to commiserate.”

She smiles broadly at him now, shows teeth, he finds himself wanting to stay, but he has wrecking to do. He glances to the corner and the girl who’s still there alright, pretending not to look at him.

“Besides, I have a previous engagement.”

He near bows to her, and heads to the corner, to the girl not requiring words.

**And after that**

The night disappears in deafening silence, as many others to come. He drinks and smokes too much and behaves pretty badly. This goes on for several weeks. It’s release-party season so he’s in good company without having to provide excuses himself. It’s easy to mask. Nicks and her best friend, Paula, are at all the same parties. They sit at the bar a few chairs over fairly often, heads together talking lowly, providing an advanced level for guys trying to pick them up. When Paula’s not around Nicks talks to him. Eventually they sit next to each other. Then they move outside into the alley, sharing cigarettes. Her work with the anthology progresses, and they work more together, go out afterwards. 

One night she suggests they go to the movies instead of the bar, and he can’t say no without coming out as an alcoholic and sad excuse for a human being, so he says okay. They wind up watching some black and white movie in french. It’s insanely uncomfortable but they have a professional relationship, he can’t just bail. He can’t leave, or think of anything to say. They walk back to Truncheon together quietly and stand outside sharing a smoke. She hands him the remnants of the cigarette and wraps herself in her shawl.

“This was nice.”

He looks at her, stunned when he realizes she means it. He smiles at her for the first time just to show that he likes her. They say good night and he walks home, sleeps better than he has in months. 

She reads his book. This is the only time she brings up the conversation from that night in april.

“Laura has to be your ex, right?”

“What makes you say that?”

“I just can’t help hearing your voice when I read, and-” She pauses. “It just has this familiar treble when she’s involved-”

“Familiar treble?” He mocks, but she ignores it.

“Angry, desperate, reverent.” 

“Oh come on!”

She smiles without submitting any control.

“Laura’s a fictional character.” He says, apparently he has to.

“Whatever you say.”

“That’s it.” 

He and Paula get on pretty well. She repeatedly teases Chris and particularly Matt over their game or lack of the same, with Jess there’s nothing to attack. He’s never had any trouble getting girls, well, except that one time. There really are no tricks to it in his experience, he rarely needs to do anything more than listen, maybe smile a bit, but that might depend on what girl you wanna get with. Paula seems to like him because she doesn’t have to watch him with Nicks, the two of them have a distinct dynamic. Nicks likes him though, that’s clear, she’s not guarded around him like she is with other guys. He has his ideas on why but doesn’t spend time considering them, he has no plans on getting together with her.

Once Nicks’s full manuscript is done, at the end of the summer, she and Paula moves back to New York. When he goes there on business he stays with her. 

One night, roughly a year after the thing at Truncheon, Paula’s off on her own and they watch a movie in Nicks’s bedroom.

“You can stay here,” she says, when the credits roll.

He doesn’t protest, does his best to be soft with her since she’s one of the few people he can stand to be around. He knows the risk, but figures them being close just by sharing a bed might be good for the friendship, he’s not used to that kind of intimacy, but reluctantly admits to himself that he’s craving it. She probably does too. 

When she touches him he responds to it, he hasn’t had sex in a while, not since he figured out that it tended to make him feel worse. Still, his hand moves to grasp hers in a kind but firm no thanks but let’s be friends. Only. Only he feels something, something new, warmth in his chest, a different surge. He cares about her. So, he doesn’t say no. And it’s good, great, actually. 

He wakes up the next day and doesn’t feel dirty, just calm. And when Paula shows up, she smiles. He goes back to Philadelphia but they get together on weekends. That’s it. 

* * *

**April 1, 2006**

Rory drives her car, leaving Philadelphia behind fast as she can. She’s doing her best to not speed. She starts singing loudly to herself along with the radio. Bad Day. She doesn’t even like the song, but the thought of silence is horrifying. She briefly considers pulling over to ransac the glove box for something weird, put together by her mother, or something angry put together by Lane, but settles for cranking up the volume even through the adds. She chews on her lip and forces her thoughts to repeat the words; I’m in love with him. Just the words, even though they’ve changed nothing, she’s still angry with Logan, disappointed, and now it’s worse because- 

“Stop it.” She says loudly.

She hadn’t expected it to be like this, she’d seen it in her mind’s eye, like a movie, coldly smiling revenge, something to restore balance to the universe, but instead: his eyes, mouth, his smell- 

“Shoot!”

It was him, and he was real. Too real, that’s how he always felt, how could she forget? She’d recalled him with vitriol, his strength and ruthlessness, but when he looked at her she remembered; That was just one aspect of him, and rarely one she had experienced first-hand. Why are you only nice to me? She hadn’t been honest in her intentions, but he had been. It turned out it was contagious, and she couldn’t pretend that that wasn’t the case. He kissed her and it was them again. Just like that. She can’t do this again.

**And after that**

When she finds out Logan’s in the hospital she’s grateful. That dufus providing something for her to dive into and stay under.

“What were you doing in Philadelphia?”

It’s weeks later, but Logan’s question opens a wormhole that throws her back in time.

“What’s it to ya?”

Her own tone is chipper enough to startle her, while she scrambles for a way back to her actual point in time. You can always tell him that we did something. She’s sick to her stomach, but smiles anyway.

“Just curious.” Logan says.

“Just catching up with old friends.”

“Old boyfriends, right?”

She turns away from him, flipping her hair as theatrically as she can manage.

“None of your business.”

He laughs. Her smile is frozen. She can’t help but feel that she, they should have done something, really done something. But, she knows in an instant why she didn’t; because it wouldn’t have been just anything, it would have changed everything, she wouldn’t even be here if they had.

Time passes. She loves Logan. But later, when he leaves, over nothing, in her opinion, she wonders how she loved him. Maybe they traded personalities. She loved him the way he used to love her; carelessly, freely, joyously, and saw no reason for him to need anything different.

**June 2, 2008**

“Mom,” Rory says into her phone, “I gotta go, this is the place.”

“Oh, oh, tell me about it, is it as bad as the last one?”

Rory looks over the facade, the street signs.

“No. It’s kind of great actually.”

“Oh! Tell me more.”

She stifles a sigh, glances at her watch, she’s early, it’s closer to the subway station than she thought. She gives the building a closer once over; It’s three stories high, red brick, at the corner of the block. A fire escape zigzags down the wall onto the ledge over the entrance. There’s a small, kind of scruffy looking deli two doors over, a juice bar, and another place hidden behind metal blinds with a sign announcing falafels. The sidewalk is cracked and worn, but clean, trees planted in even intervals along the walkway, rowan, she thinks, without knowing for sure.

“Uhm… the location’s great, and if I’m correct, then this place is the entirety or at least the vast majority of the third floor, which is crazy, can’t wait to meet whoever owns this place.”

“Mister Moneybags. Remember hun, these guys prey on pretty young things like you, make sure your door locks from the inside.”

“Mom!”

“What?”

“Way to scare me!”

“If I don’t say it Emily will have my head, don’t forget she’s still pissed she weren’t allowed to involve her real estate agent!” 

“Yeah, yeah, I gotta go.”

She hangs up before Lorelai has time to protest. She pushes the button to the apartment and puts her cool hand to her warm ear. 

“Yeah?”

It’s a guy’s voice. Rory pushes her mother’s insinuation aside.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Rory Gilmore, I’m here about the room.”

“Oh, right, let me buzz you up.” 

She has to lean her entire body on the heavy door to open it. There’s a tiny, ancient elevator, that she’ll never ride, too much like a cage. When she reaches the floor, both doors on either side of the hallway are open. She tries peering into the one on the left, then the right. She jerks as a man’s head pops out of it, giving her the once-over. He takes a step out into the hall and reaches for her hand.

“Hi! I’m Adam.”

He’s cute, seems playful, a definite puppylike quality about him, she has a hard time believing he would prey on anyone.

“Rory.” She shakes his hand. ”You’re the owner?”

He laughs.

“Oh no.”

“I’m confused.”

He smiles, seemingly enjoying her confusion.

“Dominique’s that way.” He points across the hall.

“I pushed the wrong button.”

“Pretty much. Not that I mind.”

Maybe more foxcub than puppy. She smiles.

“You know each other, then?”

“Two peas in a very weird pod. Just let yourself in, head for the kitchen, farthest room in the whole place. It’s just a brisk walk to Mordor.”

“Thanks.”

She enters the apartment. There’s a corridor. On the right a doorway to what looks like a large common room, several couches, armchairs and low tables are placed in groups throughout the space, a big TV stands in the corner. On the left a closed door with a name tag on it. She passes three more like it, as well as another common room and two bathrooms. At the end of the corridor she spots the kitchen, but no movement inside. The last door before it is closed but loud rock blares from the room behind it. She’s just about to knock when a voice comes from the kitchen.

“In here.”

It’s a woman’s voice. She smiles to herself. Miss Moneybags.

The kitchen is large, recently renovated from the looks of it, there’s a bar in some kind of dark stone, maybe diabase, sticking out from the wall opposite the counter. A woman gets up from her place in one of the stools and reaches for Rory’s hand. She’s younger than she sounds.

“You’re Madeleine’s friend?”

“Yes, we went to school together.” Rory answers. “How did you know her again?” 

“Summers in France.”

“I know of them.”

The woman, presumably Dominique, offers her a stool on the opposing side of the bar and they both sit down.

“Tell me about yourself.”

“Uhm, I’m from Connecticut. I graduated Yale a year ago, and spent the time since then on the campaign trail with senator Obama. Me and a bunch of interns ran a blog, sold pieces to the local press.” 

“Sounds busy.”

“It was.”

“And now?”

She’s answered these questions a couple of times the last few days, while looking at places, but it hasn’t gotten easier to keep her tone even.

“My grandpa had a heart attack, my mom’s kinda ill equipped to handle it.” She smiles, it helps. ”Figured I better get closer, stay put for a while. New York has always been a dream. I’m too chicken to buy or rent on my own, I have this idea I’ll be too tied down.”

“So what are you doing- or planning to do for rent?” 

“Writing, freelancing, maybe get a part time gig. I have a foot in as an assistant on Pulse. And, you don’t have to worry about money, I’m good for first and last month’s rent, plus a deposit.”

“I rarely worry about money.”

“I didn’t think so-”

“I’m thinking more of messy habits, illegal substances, rowdy boyfriends.”

“I have none of those. I wash my clothes by color, legal substances only, no boyfriend.”

“I’m surprised.”

“Thank you?”

“About the boyfriend-bit.”

”Well, I broke up with my last one about a year ago.” Logan, she hasn’t really had time to process it properly, been too busy, so his name is still like a loose tooth. ”Distance wasn’t what he signed up for, and since then all I’ve done is work.”

”How ’bout rowdy girlfriends then? Because those are always welcome.”

Rory laughs.

“They tend to range between angry, nerdy, and chatty.”

“Well, they’re all welcome here.” Dominique smiles, slides off the stool and gestures for Rory to join her. “Let me tell you about the place.” They walk down the corridor. ”The blue doors are for my tenants, there are three at the moment. Closest to the kitchen is me, and my boyfriend, he’s playing music so we’ll be undisturbed, it’s not always like this.” She walks slowly as she talks, vaguely gesturing at the doors. “Then there’s Izzy, she’s a paralegal, I have no idea why she’s still here. Mark is from Münich, was only supposed to stay for six months but he met someone, now he works as a waiter at this fancy restaurant in Manhatta n.” They reach the  entry hall again and the last door. “This one’s my best friend, she works as a kindergarten teacher, she’s just the greatest.” She turns and leads Rory in the other direction. ”The one in the middle would be yours. You smoke?”

Rory tries not to say no too fervently. Dominique opens the door with no name tag.

“Well, there’s a fire escape, previous smokers have made use of it for their habit. It’s furnished, as you can see-”

Rory walks into the room. It’s weirdly shaped, like corner spaces tend to be. A bed straight to her left, doors to a wardrobe by the end of it and an empty bookshelf by the opposing wall. Behind the door is a reading chair and a worn sofa table next to a lamp. The window is big, the glass is old, the winters here are likely cold, but it’s summer now. The fire escape is steely black outside the window, in stark contrast against the foggy, blue sky and matt brick red and brown of the window and building across the street.

“-there are two bathrooms, the red doors, the closest one is across the hall, but we all take turns keeping them clean, same thing goes for the kitchen and the common rooms via rotating schedule. How does that seem to you?”

That sounds like an invitation, Rory has trouble believing her luck.

“It seems great, the place is great. How long have you had it?”

“You mean how do I afford it?”

“Sort of.”

“My useless father had the good sense to pass away a few years back.”

Rory jerks a bit at the harsh words but Dominique’s face is calm.

“I put my inheritance and trust fund to good use.”

“Making room for a chosen family?” Rory tries.

“In a way. Got the practical space alright, working on the emotional one.”

Frank. Rory likes it, likes her, she hasn’t had her particular difficulties but feels a familiarity all the same.

“As far as I’m concerned the room’s yours if you want it.”

“Really?” Rory smiles. “I’m so happy.”

“Glad to hear it, when do you wanna move in?”

“Next week, if that’s okay.”

“It’s totally okay. I’ll get the papers.”

It’s quick, efficient, It’s clear her new landlord has done this a few times. She makes Rory a macchiato on her fancy machine and walks her to the door while browsing the papers. Rory’s halfway out the when Dominique speaks.

“So, Lorelai Leigh.” She smiles.

“Legally. But Lorelai’s my mother.”

“Pretty, though.”

Rory smiles back.

“You’re one to talk. Dominique. The Fountainhead is one of my favorite books.”

“I haven’t read it, Rand is sort of-”

“A political nut,” Rory finishes.

“Exactly. But I go by Nicks anyway.”

“Like Fleetwood Mac.” Rory remarks.

“Like that.” Nicks raises her hand. “See you in a few days.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

Even with the door to the apartment closed, the music from Nicks’s bedroom leaks out into the hall. Dinosaur Jr, Rory thinks. She walks downstairs, outside. She squints at the sunlight and picks up her phone to call her mother back.


	2. A Moveable Feast [For Crows]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rory moves into her room, attends the party of two apartments, and meets her unexpected roommate.

**June 6, 2008**

One week later she moves in. She doesn’t need to bring more than a bunch of boxes containing books, clothes, music, bedlinen and bathroom gear. Still, Lorelai has dragged herself out of bed at Luke’s ungodly hour to help. However, her help mainly consists of getting coffee and then drinking both cups when Rory doesn’t have time for hers. 

“If you just wanted to check the place out you would’ve been welcome some other time.” Rory says pointedly.

“And miss out on watching you work? Oh, to be young and move in to a room of one’s own in somebody else’s apartment!”

Rory sighs.

“Something on your mind?”

“I still don’t see why you couldn’t stay with me. Your room is still there.”

“Oh, to be young and move back home to your mommy.” Rory counters. ”You of all people should understand why this is how I’d wanna do it. But oh, to be old and retcon being young.”

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself! Put down the cup, you’re done. Pick up a box, you might as well make yourself useful.”

Lorelai sighs but does as she’s told. They empty the car and starts carrying boxes up the stairs, stacking a few into the elevator and pushing them up that way. 

Nicks meets them at the door.

”The place is all yours. I’m on my way out.” She greets Lorelai and hands Rory a small bundle of keys. ”Paula is cooking something up tonight with Neighbor Adam, she said to invite you.”

”Thanks.”

”Later.”

She waves and disappears down the stairs. Lorelai gapes after her. 

“Woah.”

“What?”

“Monopoly girl. I’m kinda awestruck.”

Rory opens the door to the elevator and pulls one box out to use as door stopper while they start unloading the rest.

“She’s cool.”

“Obviously. What is it that she does?”

“Writing mostly, I think. She has a blog. It’s sort of a mix between Gossip Girl, alternate lifestyle stuff, and autobiographic therapy, she was apparently raised by the help.”

“Poor little rich girl.”

“You’re one to talk. Anyway, now she’s mostly out and about, doing interviews, spending weekends with her subjects.”

“You sound jealous.”

“Grow up.” Rory mutters. “Would it be awesome to have enough money to own a place like this while freelancing and writing what I like? Sure. But it’s hardly what Christine would do, now is it?”

“Ah, the almighty Amanpour, broadcasting live from a foxhole in Brooklyn with her mommy.”

Rory smiles, seeing as she painted herself into this corner. 

They finish their task pretty quickly and Lorelai drags Rory out for lunch. 

“I take this moment to remind you that you’re under no obligation to drop everything and come home-” Lorelai has to stop talking due to chewing and Rory makes use of the break by stifling a sigh. “-don’t let Emily twist your arm-”

“Mom, I’ve told you a hundred times it’s not that- Grandma hasn’t asked me for anything.” 

“Then what?”

“This was my idea.”

She can’t tell Lorelai she’s scared of things spiraling out of control between the rest of the Gilmores in her absence, that she’s come to recognize that she’s the glue holding things together, that this might hinder any far away position she might attain, and that that’s not all her grandparents’ fault, but some Lorelai’s. But most of all she can’t tell Lorelai that she’s not even panicking at that thought, but instead, maybe, possibly, is okay with it, in a kind of resigned way. Fine with never broadcasting from Tehran. She retreats.

“Look, it’s not like I bought a place. I’m renting a room. Hardly permanent. If you like I could find a trailer park but I don’t think grandma would react well to that.”

Lorelai snorts and pays the bill. They drive to Ikea and fills a bag with utensils, boxes for clothes, and a few cute pillows and blankets on Lorelai’s insistence. They part way on the sidewalk outside the building.

“Call me when you’re done with the room.”

“I will. Call me when grandpa’s all settled back home, I wanna go visit him.”

She heads upstairs, uses her key for the first time and is greeted by a woman as soon as she gets inside. Paula. She’s exceedingly chatty and cheery, inviting Rory to the evening’s festivities, giving lengthy descriptions of Mark and Izzy as well as a few of her students, and the town she grew up in - a small place in northern Wales, all in the course of five minutes. When Rory does get a chance to speak she can’t think of anything other than to keep asking questions, sometimes that’s nice, she’s noticed.

“Nicks told me you’ve been best friends for a long time?”

“Oh yeah! I’ve known her since she was fourteen. I was eighteen, got a job as an au pair and she turned out to be the kid I was gonna look after, fourteen at the time.” Paula laughs. “I figured out quickly I couldn’t teach her a thing, she was more worldly than I was back then. But I think she liked that about me.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Her dad was-” She pauses, looks serious for a second, the first time since they started talking. “-let’s just say not there, so, I tried to be. I stayed close after my work was done and, that was that.”

“It’s quite a story. You should write a book.”

“That’s Nicks’s job description, but yeah, she has talked about it.”

The door opens, and Adam steps into the hallway.

“Sorry to interrupt, but, I was gonna start getting things in order.”

“I’ll be right there. You wanna come and help, Rory?”

“Fair warning; stoves and I do not intermingle, we’re like oil and water.”

“It’s fine. We’ll put you in charge of decorations.”

Party preparations mainly take place in Adam’s apartment, despite it being distinctly smaller than Nicks’s. After a while Izzy and Mark arrive and Rory gets introduced to them. Mark has a dry sense of humor, very sharp, he reminds her a bit of Michel, and Izzy’s serious, organized and intelligent, and doesn’t really remind her of anyone, which gets her thinking about her friends and what types she actually has represented there. Other people start showing up and everybody seems to know each other or at least be comfortable enough to ignore each other. Nicks arrives, still in her jacket and bag, straight from the city. She and Adam stand talking in the kitchen and she waves at Rory. The place is crowded.

“Why isn’t the party at Nicks’s place?” She asks Izzy.

“It is too. We just take turns hosting and the place providing the food usually winds up providing all the floor space,” she shrugs, “but the common rooms are open, people usually hang out there, listen to music and stuff like that.”

Rory chats with Izzy some more and does the introductory rounds with her other flatmates. She looks for Nicks but she’s nowhere to be found. Adam joins them and remains when the others head to another room to dance.

“So, how do you like your new place so far?”

“Too new to tell, but, the apartment is amazing. I’m so jealous of Nicks, just, being the mistress over it all, I think I’ve changed my life goal from writing to just being a mother hen at an apartment like that.”

Adam laughs.

“Mother hen. A bohemian chick at best.” 

His tone is humorous, but with a little edge. She matches it when responding.

“What do you know about it? Have you lived with her?”

“No, but, she’s just not really warm enough for the motherly reference.”

“Don’t you guys get on, or what? Why isn’t she here?”

“She rarely spends time at these things, just hosts them in absentia, she’s pretty hard to impress.” He gulps down his drink. “You’ll see. I’m gonna get a refill.”

“I think I will go hang out in my room for a bit, see how I feel about it.”

She brings her drink back into the apartment, Paula’s door is open and two guests are going through her record collection, low music plays from the stereo in the common room where a guy is lying on one of the couches with his fedora over his face. The corridor is lit only by the light streaming from the bathrooms, red beacons for people in need. 

She unlocks her door and goes inside. She finishes her drink while making her bed, unpacking a box of books, locating her toothbrush and all her articles for the bathroom, she plugs in her lamp and lights a candle. 

She sits in her armchair and looks at her walls. Just to have walls. The last year she’s slept on buses, airports, motels. Now she’s going to go to bed between these walls every night for a while. These empty walls. She’ll have to decorate. Lorelai actually tried to buy her a poster at Ikea, but she fervently declined. They’re the kind of posters that hangs in motels, airports, hospitals. The room in Saint Francis had a stock photo of a landscape, very pretty, but still, Rory couldn’t shake the feeling of having seen it somewhere else, maybe in more than one place in the hospital or in one of her many motels from the last year, and all she could associate with it was this feeling of going, and how it was messing with her sense of direction, of balance even. The thought of it leaks into even this moment, making her dizzy. She stands up abruptly and blows out the candle, then heads to the kitchen. 

She turns on the light and puts on a small pot of coffee, while she waits she takes a seat close to the window and looks out into the street. It’s still relatively early for a Friday and lots of people are moving around. She opens the window and leans out, listening to the talk from people on the sidewalk, from traffic. Growing up she never had this; The reassuring sound of alternative life, there was only she and Lorelai, their set circumstances, and even now, during the last year, the evenings have been oddly quiet, spent in places just populated for work, not living. 

The coffee maker hisses as it finishes and she closes the window and pours a cup. She sits at the table while she blows on the hot beverage, and takes small sips from it. She looks around the kitchen and listens to the sounds from the party across the hall, echoes from voices in the stairs, music from Nicks’s room, she can’t quite make it out, just the bass, something by Massive Attack perhaps. This is a home, several actually, surrounded by so many others. It feels new in a way that she can’t really figure out what to do with. She remembers her first night at Yale, her first night on the road. If she’s ever going to get right around here she’s going to have to get through the first night, and the quickest way to do that is to sleep. She pours out the remnants of coffee in the sink, rinses her cup and heads back to her bedroom. 

She’s about to pass Nicks’s door when she notices it’s not closed all the way. She slows to identify the music before, but freezes entirely as the sounds from the room become clearer: the rhythmic whispers from the bed, air being pushed out in breaths, moans, skin on skin. To make matters worse, movements to accompany the sounds are visible through the crack in the door. No more than shadows, sheets on the bed moving, but still. Her new landlord is definitely having sex in there. She takes a step backwards which makes the previously silent floor whine, luckily in unison with Nicks’s voice, but Rory still panics and hurries back into the kitchen. The sounds from the bedroom are distinct once identified and escalating to add insult to injury. Rory runs the water to block it out. 

Then silence falls. She takes a breath and realizes she’s still trapped here, in the farthest room of the apartment. There are steps from Nicks’s room. She desperately rummages around her pockets and finds her cellphone. It’s turned off but she still presses it to her ear and makes a few incoherent sounds as if engaged in conversation. Nicks’s door opens and she turns away from the moving figure- has to be Nicks’s boyfriend- who enters the kitchen, but she has to at least acknowledge his presence. 

She turns slightly, and drops her phone. It lands on the floor with a seemingly Earth shattering thud. 

It’s Jess. 

Jess is standing by the sink, barefoot in sweatpants, t-shirt tossed over his bare shoulder, hair on end, glass in hand, expression a landslide, wide open, he gapes, he never gapes. She can’t feel her own face and puts her fingers to it to read it.

“Rory-” He interrupts himself to make way for a sharp exhale.

“Jess-” 

It’s a whisper, she can’t seem to get tone into her voice, like it’s a broken lighter. She rips her gaze from his, but it’s no better, him being half-naked, she diverts it and nails it to the floor between them. She sees him moving in the corner of her eye, pulling his t-shirt over his head, putting it on. She clears her throat, managing to get tone back into it, forces her lips back together in a tight smile.

“You’re Nicks’s boyfriend.”

It’s quiet, she looks up at him. He finally closes his mouth, nods.

“And you’re her new tenant.”

His mouth twitches or maybe trembles, but there’s an expression in his eyes, unhesitant - the recognition - and her smile widens without her meaning to or understanding why on earth, and she feels it, the warmth, in her chest accordingly, because it’s been so long and she’s missed him and - The heat starts burning her; He’s dating, fucking, her landlord. She blushes. 

He suddenly looks like she feels, is it possible he gets her, still? How does he do that? Is he going through the exact same turns as she is right now? He clears his throat, gestures to the room.

“I hope we didn’t-” He starts, and she has to stop him.

“No, I just-” How is it worse from those stupid words? “I’m sorry.”

Her heart must wake up the entire building.

“What are the odds?” She says, helpless.

He looks at her, and for a moment she sees it in his face too, like a mirror. You know we’re meant to be together. Is that a promise or a threat? The words seem like a curse.

“Astronomical.” He says.

They let the silence give weight to what’s spoken. He blinks, looks away.

“I’d better-”

He shoots her a bleak smile and puts his glass down on the counter, attempts to leave.

“Oh, good, you’ve met.”

Nicks walks into the room, wrapped in a robe, stops next to Jess, and lets her gaze dart between them.

“Haven’t gotten around to shaking hands yet? Jess, Rory, Rory, Jess.”

He presses his lips together and gives Rory a straight look, before turning to Nicks.

“Yeah, so, turns out we actually already know each other.”

“No way! How?” Nicks smiles.

Rory looks at Jess for guidance, but he’s got his attention on Nicks.

“We lived at the same backwater town for a while.”

“Connecticut? I didn’t know you’d lived there.” She puts her arms around his waist.

“It was a temporary thing, when I stayed with my uncle.” 

Nicks eyes flick to Rory.

“But you were friendly?”

Jess smiles and Rory has to too.

“Yeah, Rory was definitely one of the people I could stand to be around.”

Rory nods.

“I liked Jess too.” She musters.

“But Rory likes everyone.” Jess fills in.

Rory gives an indignant gasp, surprised at her own antics. Nicks looks beyond pleased.

“Oh well, this is just further proof that I have the most excellent taste in people.”

“That you do.” Jess looks at her, puts an arm around her shoulders.

Rory bites her lip and smiles firmly. Jess glances back to her and drags his hand through his hair. The silence is probably no longer than a few seconds, but it’s deafening, everlasting.

“Well, I-” She reaches for the glass Jess left on the counter. “I just came to get water, I’m beat.”

“Yeah, of course, long day.” Nicks’s tone is apologetic. “Sleep well.”

Rory fills the glass and is almost at the corridor when Jess’s voice halts her.

“Rory.”

She has to check her expression before turning back. He bends over and picks up her phone, takes a step closer and hands it to her. She has to remind herself to breathe.

“Thanks.”

She turns and hurries back to her room. As the door closes the ground seems to open, where she wanted to fall in the first place. His pants, that’s what she winds up thinking about, he has a wardrobe for staying in, because he lives here, with Nicks. And now with her. 

In a fit of desperation she considers calling her mom, but lets it go: she’s not ready for any response Lorelai can provide and it’s late. Not that that matters. She doesn’t sleep that night, not well anyway. That first night in her new place winds up being a long one. 


	3. The Art of F[r]iction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jess and Rory clears the air with air freshener, and breaks the news.

**June 7, 2008**

How is any of this possible? He pretends it isn’t, it’s not real, that’s how he gets from the kitchen to the bathroom, and back to Nicks’s bedroom, their bedroom. Nicks falls asleep with her back to his. His head is reeling. He stares into the dark room. She definitely heard them, him. Oh god. In an instant that moment mingles with every time they were close in the past, he’ll never have sex in this room again without a thought down the corridor. He knows that room well, and the previous tenant Jake. He was a smoker too and they used the fire escape for that purpose frequently.

What are the odds? It’s dark magic, has to be. He doesn’t believe in god but is forced to consider the possibility of a malignant trickster variety being out to get him at this point. Those are the thoughts he binds himself with that night, the unlikelihood of this entire situation, denial. 

He stares at the wall, then he wakes up, having just closed his eyes, thoughts and feelings lodged in him mid-sentence. Nicks is getting up, she goes to work out in the mornings even if she doesn’t have to. Once she’s gone he rolls over and looks at the ceiling. The roof he’s meant to share with Rory Gilmore from now on. 

He hasn’t said her name out loud in two years, since it seems to summon her, and days can pass before he shakes her. He and Luke has sort of a don’t ask, don’t tell-policy regarding her, but some things can’t be missed, especially when Lorelai’s around, she’s happy to share her daughter’s successes as well as stuff that just amuses her. He’s heard the name and the way he feels every time has convinced him not to speak it. But now… He shapes it with his lips and clenches his jaws around it, and it’s enough to make his heart pick up its pace. 

There’s no point denying what he feels, what he’s always felt, the strength of it is still humbling. But he can make it into something different. He has to. He only loves the idea of her, the changes she inspired in his life, he tells himself in someone else's voice.

He hears noises from the kitchen, and gets up, gets dressed, resolved. He finds Rory there, clearly annoyed. She rummages around the space erratically. 

“Too early for this, too little sleep.” She mutters.

“Hey.”

She almost jumps at his voice, then looks at him, irritated, vulnerable.

“Hi.”

They stare at each other for a moment, all his momentum seemingly out the window. 

“This is so weird.” She mumbles.

“Yup.” He replies, breathlessly, before clearing his throat. “Looking for something?”

She sighs, sharply, with a tiny, strange note in her voice.

“Coffee, filters, my so-called life.”

“Let’s go out for breakfast. There’s a place around the corner.”

She straightens, nods. 

“Okay.”

They head down, and the silence is awkward, even when they’re just walking. He wants to look at her, keep her in his line of sight, a constant confirmation that he hasn’t in fact lost his mind, so he keeps glancing at her, which makes his steps uneven and scattered. At one point she looks at him with those piercing blue eyes of hers, frowning. He bites his tongue. Get it together.

“This way.”

It’s not far, just around the corner of the block and across the street.

The place is going for shameless retro americana with a long bar counter stretching from one end of the room to the other, bending itself around the kitchen, the edges of the room diced up into booths with just a few stray tables, the waitress and cook wearing similar silly hats in white and petrol. The place is full of people not able to locate their own coffee filters, but the last booth, closest to the opening of the counter, becomes available as soon as they enter. More black magic, maybe his own this time, he’s always had a way with diners. And it’s a good thing, Rory - suddenly in a much better mood, likely from the mere proximity to food - dives right into the menu chatting incessantly, asking questions about the different dishes. 

“I’m the wrong person to ask.”

“You picked the place.”

“I’m not a breakfast person. I just come here for the coffee. And a donut sometimes, those are good.”

She frowns at him and orders coffee, eggs and a donut from the waitress after a beat. There’s a digital jukebox in a corner playing Perry Como. He tries not to look at her too much, but sees that she’s chewing on her lip, in anticipation of the food most likely, or maybe she’s nervous too. The waitress brings the coffee, and Rory hides behind her cup, while he stirs his. Then he finally gets it together, through sheer force of will. He leans over the table, it’s a trick he’s learned from Nicks, she does it when she wants to get people to open up, and it almost always works, people tend to be eager to mirror you, even if they’re not aware of it. 

“I figured it’s good if we get a chance to talk.”

She sighs into her cup, then lowers it.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

She looks at him, expecting him to take the lead, he thought he already had, getting them here, starting this topic, he’s not quite sure how to continue after this. He sips his coffee to gain time. Fortunately, she starts talking instead.

“So, how long have you been together with Nicks?”

“Almost a year.”

“And how did you two meet?”

“Through Truncheon, she edited an anthology for us, and put out a shorter autobiography on the pieces she wrote for her blog, about her life, her dad, her money.” He pauses, it’s easy to talk about Nicks, she is interesting, and it helps that he doesn’t have to talk about himself, he uses the trick frequently with other people, but can’t keep it up long with Rory. “We were coworkers, then friends, then-” He can’t finish the sentence, he’s a delicate flower. 

“You live together.” She finishes for him.

“In a way.”

She smiles, pulling the string.

“It’s sort of a trial-run.” He goes on. “I had business in town, we always do, it helps that I’m here, and-”

He halts, hasn’t told anyone other than in passing.

“What?” She asks.

He stares at his coffee and speaks slowly, deliberately.

“I’m getting my GED, got the test scheduled for the first of September, here in New York, several birds, one stone.”

He can’t stand the look on her face for more than short glances. She’s so… happy, over something he’s doing, for himself. It makes him think maybe it’s not all for himself. Is everything he does an offering to her?

“I’m-” Her voice is full of it too. “I’m so happy for you, that’s so great, Jess.”

He forces his eyes to her face, lets it wash over him. They look at each other and spend a moment in that place of theirs, that only holds the two of them. Her food arrives and she downs half of her eggs in a few decisive bites, while he looks out the window, following the passersby with his eyes so he doesn’t slip too badly. After a little while she continues talking and he’s allowed to look at her again.

“And, a trial-run- Practise for permanently living together?”

“It’s what all the cool kids are doing.”

“It’s not just dating.” It’s a statement, with just a hint of soft question which he can’t dwell on.

“I don’t think I have it in me.” He says, truthfully.

She nods, smiles, a little tightly he thinks.

“In or out.”

“Possibly.” He fidgets in his seat.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Not long, ‘bout a month and a half.” 

She nods. He clears his throat and changes the subject. 

“So, how’ve you been?”

“Busy.” She answers lightly.

“You broke up with Porsche-guy.”

She hides behind her cup again.

“He dumped me, actually.”

He can’t stop himself. He reaches over the table and pulls the cup from her face and makes eye contact, smiles.

“That’s not how I heard it.”

Her jaw drops.

“What did you hear?”

“He proposed. You said no thanks.”

She smirks.

“Pretty happy about that, huh?”

Now he has to look away, he lets go of her cup and leans back into his seat, mumbles.

“I won’t lie, yes.”

She chuckles.

“What other gossip is Luke passing on?”

“That was your mother actually.”

She gasps and he goes on while he can.

“She told me about your grandfather too.”

She stops smiling.

“Yeah, well.”

“That why you’re here?”

“Partly.” She takes a gulp of coffee. “Mom and grandma, they argue to handle stuff like this, it’s just the way it is, but without me around it escalates.”

“And the other part?”

There’s the briefest of pauses, then a big smile from her and that chin out thing she does when she’s begging for a good bickering.

“You know I’ve always had a soft spot for the big apple.”

He laughs, she looks pleased, leans in.

“But seriously, can you believe that you and I are like roommates now? How did that happen?”

He shrugs, decides to be kind.

“Fate.”

She smiles broadly.

“Must be.” She shakes her head. “Yesterday was awkward like nothing else, but- right now this doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.” She extends her right hand theatrically. “What do you say? Friends?”

That stupid word. It chafes from being too small and too big at the same time. He reaches for her hand, and it’s really there. Wild.

“It’s what we’ve always been as far as I’m concerned.”

It’s not a lie. They’re kindred. It’s not her fault he’s crazy about her. And the good she’s done for him, she doesn’t even know half of it. So it came with a few side effects, he’s still convinced he would be in horrible shape today if it weren’t for her. He never would’ve started writing if not for all those letters he penned but never sent, without the writing he never would’ve found Truncheon, or Nicks for that matter. Heck, he didn’t even sign up to get his GED without hearing her voice in his head. She doesn’t deserve his bitterness, hostility, or to drag around responsibility for his relentless longing, she deserves his friendship, support.

The waitress refills their cups, and he takes a slow breath, while she stirs her cup cheerily, a little bouncy, in rhythm with Peggy Lee, currently played on the jukebox.

”So, what have you read lately?”

He snorts.

”Lately?”

”Since the last time we met-” She stops, picks up her cutlery and cuts her donut in half, placing one bit on a napkin. “-no, since the last time we had time to discuss that stuff.”

He smiles.

”I don’t keep a log.”

”But you remember, don’t you?” She pushes the napkin with the half a donut over to him, like an awkward bribe.

”Maybe.” He admits.

”Well, in any case, I keep a log.” She takes a bite of her half.

”Naturally.”

”I could look into it,” her mouth is full of bread, there’s sugar on her lips, “see if we can catch up?”

He chuckles a bit before answering but it feels more like a breath than a laugh.

”You carry it with you?”

“I don’t actually, I probably should.”

“This is a little embarrassing for you.”

She laughs, sending a crumb flying.

“Well, it’s too long anyway, we’ll have to get through it bit by bit.”

“We have time.”

“We do, don’t we?” 

She smiles and licks the sugar from her lips. He’s in trouble.

After breakfast Rory heads to meet some guy about a prospective job and he walks to the park, hasn’t got a meeting until later. He sits on a bench by the arch, takes up his half a donut and eats it. So, it’s fine. Rory lives in the apartment, big deal, he’ll deal. They have fun together, always has had, just because they’ve argued like crazy at times doesn’t mean that’s their default. It’ll be fine. 

But Nicks. What is he going to tell her? It’s probably better if she doesn’t know, but things might get pretty complicated if he has to manage their history, keeping secrets hasn’t worked in his favor so far. He should tell her. 

His meeting is fairly quick, a writer who’s arranging a release party and needs his help inviting some people from houses and independent press. But it’s not until mid-July. When they’re done he walks back to the apartment, thoughts churning.

His impulse is still to call Luke, even while realizing the absurdity of it. Luke hasn’t been in that many relationships, and since he’s finally landed one that matters he’s likely forgotten everything previous. That’s how Liz works anyway. The risk of getting some outlandish advice to either tell all or nothing seems likely and destined to be faulty. He calls Matt instead, he’s the only one who’s been in relationships, plural, as opposed to Chris’s serial dating. 

Jess drags out the conversation as long as he can, the pull of the possibility to just leave it be is strong, but Matt is too efficient to allow for much stalling.

“What’s up?” He asks after the third pause.

“I have a bit of an issue.” Jess switches hands on the phone, is nervous talking about this so directly, these types of conversations are usually reserved to nights out drinking, but he needs advice on it right away, before too much time passes and everything just falls into ruin. “Remember Rory?”

“Rory Gilmore, the great and terrible beauty, first love extraordinaire, how could I not?” Matt rambles, then interrupts himself. “Wait why? What have you done?”

This was a mistake.

“Nothing, just turns out she’s Nicks’s new tenant.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s not like I invited her, it was pure business between them.” He sighs. “What do I tell Nicks?” 

“What do you mean what do you tell her?” There’s urgency in Matt’s voice, he doesn’t leave space for Jess to answer. “What are you doing?”

“Excuse me for not having your extensive experience.” Jess bites. “I’ve never had a relationship like this.” He swallows his irritation. “What do I do?”

“You tell her nothing, alright? You tell her you dated, that’s it, ancient history. Are you gonna hurt our girl just ‘cause you have feelings for your ex? Everybody does.” His voice on the line sounds flaky, like he’s gesturing with the phone in hand. “You don’t bring it up, life goes on.”

Truth by silence, omitting things. Matt is still talking.

“Don’t pour old shit into a new relationship, you know, just make new shit instead.” 

He snickers slightly. He’s on a roll, and will keep going for a long time if he’s not stopped, he rarely knows when to shut up.

“Got it.” Jess says curtly, and the other end falls silent.

“Well then, glad to be of service.”

Jess hangs up before anything else is said and considers the bitter idea of half-measures and gray areas and Rory Gilmore. It’s so different from what he imagined for them when he was younger. He was angry with her two years ago when she was living beneath her own level, but he’s picked up on a few things since then, and sees the use of maybe not going above and beyond all the time, it just led to him crashing after she last left. If he wants to maintain this life of his he needs to pace himself. 

So, he doesn’t hurry home. He walks around the park for a while before heading back and stopping to pick up lunch on his way. Nicks is back, in the middle of writing as he enters, but happy for the interruption as well as the food, he’s bought her favorite, lebanese, perhaps in an act of preclusion. He puts on some music too, to sort of drown himself out. He watches her for a few minutes between bites. He has to tell her.

“Listen, I should probably clear something up;” he starts, and she looks up, still chewing. “Rory and I dated a few years back.” 

The words seem to tumble out his mouth, but maybe it’s just because of the silence after. Nicks is looking at him, head slightly tilted. 

“Oh.”

He can’t look away.

“Is she Laura?” She asks, with the slightest of smiles.

He exhales sharply, weirdly relieved.

“Jeez, Laura is a fictional character.” 

Her eyes narrow.

“Fine. Is she the girl from the night we met?”

He bites his lip, and takes a second to think on Matt’s advice.

“Yes, but I don’t- It goes without saying that I don’t feel like that anymore.” 

Technically not a lie, it seems important that he walks the line on that, even if it is more complicated. She finally looks away, and when her eyes find him again they’re softer. She opens her mouth before speaking, hesitating.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Their limitations as a couple are plain, they’ve maintained space around their defenses, their neurosises, and now they have to live in it. He doesn’t usually think about it like that, because he knows her, the stuff she shares with everyone and the details she’s shared in tender moments, he’s assembled a pretty decent idea of who she is. She hasn’t had the same advantage with him. 

He shakes his head, distracted by his thoughts. 

“’Cause it’d be okay if you needed to.”

She takes his hand. The gesture seems misplaced. They don’t do the touchy-feely stuff, she even less than him. Maybe she’s worried. 

“Are you okay with her living here?” She asks.

What a question. Completely reasonable, but okay doesn’t begin to cover it, in any direction. He finally knows what he needs to do, to say, though, without having to call a friend.

“I’m good. Me and Rory have been friendly for a while, we were actually friendly when you and I met, I was just in a bad place that night.” He smiles at her, squeezes her hand back. “And by a bad place I mean drunk, and possibly trying to get you off my back.”

She smiles broadly, shakes her head and pulls her hand from his. She takes a bite of her kibbeh, chews and swallows, before looking back at him.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

* * *

**June 8, 2008**

It was summer when I slept, and winter now I waken, is her first thought when she wakes up. This is good, is her second. She wakes up, and thinks this is good. For one thing she slept alright, possibly from exhaustion but that’s beside the point. The room is bright, the light reflecting harshly from the unadorned walls. She’s going to have to decorate. She listens for the new sounds of the place, the traffic, faint music from one, maybe two, rooms, a voice, maybe several voices, from somewhere, the pipes rushing with water, the floor creaking with steps. 

She makes her way up a while later, kind of slowly, carefully. By then she’s waited for a few of her flatmates, can’t tell which yet, to exit the place, to go to brunch from what she could make out. She couldn’t say why she waited, maybe it’s all just too much too soon. Even so, not everyone joined the excursion; one bathroom is taken and there’s the familiar sound of the coffee maker from the kitchen. 

She finds Nicks in an oversized flannel shirt, perched on a kitchen chair, bare legs folded under herself in some intricate mess, hair on end. For no apparent reason her heart picks up its pace. Nicks looks up and smiles at her. She mirrors it.

“Good morning.”

“Morning is the only passable part of a Sunday.” Nicks responds and nods at the coffee pot. “It’s done if you want some.”

“You bet.” 

Nicks returns her attention to the newspaper spread out in front of her. Rory dives into the task of pouring coffee with great concentration. She considers taking the cup back to her room but decides against it. Instead she tentatively extracts a chair from the table and sits down in front of Nicks. She sips her coffee and attempts to read upside down. She must turn her head a tad too much because she jerks at the rustle of Nicks handing her another section of the paper. She accepts it and Nicks smiles, kind of crookedly, at her. She reads a couple of pieces and refills her cup before Nicks breaks the silence.

“Jess told me you dated.”

Rory’s dumbfounded, despite having known she should have expected this conversation at some point. She looks awkwardly over her own shoulder and would rather swallow her own tongue than have Jess be privy to this particular discussion. As if reading her mind, Nicks says:

”He’s not here, he left with the others.”

“Sorry.” Rory manages without having any idea if that word is appropriate.

“No, don’t apologize.”

“I just-” As soon as she knows what to say she can’t say it fast enough. “I figured it was up to him to tell you-”

Nicks interrupts her, a chuckle in her voice.

“It’s okay, that stuff can be awkward enough for the people actually involved.”

“It was a long time ago.” Rory breathes.

“But it was a big deal?”

“Well, yeah.” She stares at her coffee, forces a little laugh. “But it always is when you’re young, right?” 

“I guess. For people in general that is, can’t say I relate, boys were just props for me back then.”

It’s not a confidence, Rory knows that from having read her blog, more like common knowledge, but it offers a kind of exit off the topic and Rory takes it, gratefully, before she says something stupid. 

“And now?” She asks and it’s first when she’s spoken the words that she realizes that she probably doesn’t want to know the answer.

Nicks smiles, ruffles her own hair with a sort of distant gaze before answering.

“Paula taught me I was worth something, Jess taught me how to value someone else.” She chuckles. “I never needed to pursue anyone before, you see.”

Rory smiles helplessly.

“I remember that feeling,” she says, “going after a guy actively.”

“Was that Jess?”

“No- yes- in a way-” She rolls the edge of the paper up and down again as she speaks. “-it was a complicated, mutual thing.”

“Complicated, huh?”

“It always is when you’re young, right?” She jokes.

Nicks folds up her paper and pushes it across the table for Rory.

“I’m just, done with any drama.“ She says. “I don’t pursue it, or stir it up, you should know that about me.”

Rory nods. Nicks smiles.

“Either way, I know about it now, so…”

”Yeah, thanks for telling me.” Stop talking now, Rory.

Nicks gets up and rinses off her cup in the sink. Rory stares at the text in the paper, upside down. Nicks stops in the door, speaks, lightly, but deliberately.

“Should I be worried?”

”No!” It feels rushed, even to her, but Nicks smiles, like she was just yanking her chain.

”Well then. See ya later.”

Rory looks at the door for a few seconds after Nicks has gone. She looks back at the paper. This is apparently how adults behave, taking each other on words instead of vague implications. And maybe that’s a good thing, you have to start somewhere, after all, aim for what you mean to do and act as if you’re really gonna do it. This is good, she thinks.

She finishes her coffee, and heads to the diner for a slow and late breakfast a while later. She puts off going back, for reasons unclear. Instead she scours the shops around the blocks closest to her new home. Charlie from Pulse calls her back and has set up a trial run at their office for tomorrow, she thanks him vehemently and hangs up.

She winds up standing with the phone in her hand gazing blankly at it for a few moments, some paint is chipped off from where it landed the other night, the mark pulls her into the memory of it and she has to shake her head to get out of it. She calls Lorelai.

“Hi hun! You all settled?”

“No way. I’m gonna unpack later today.”

“How was the party?”

“Interesting,” she takes a quick breath, “I met Nicks’s boyfriend, and you’ll never guess who...” Her tone is chipper on purpose, that’s how she makes it about someone else.

There’s a pause that drags on too long.

“You’re right, I won’t, so spill!” Lorelai urges.

“Jess.”

There’s a deafening silence on the line which makes her crazy nervous.

“Excuse me? Jess? Mariano?”

“We don’t know anyone else by that name now do we?” Rory says as lightly as she can.

Lorelai makes a noise on the other end indicating she’s not having it.

“You don’t get to take that tone on this! Do you realize the odds for this just randomly happening?”

“Astronomical.”

Lorelai chuckles.

“He’s dating Monopoly Girl? Moving up in the world…”

“Mom!”

“Batting out of his league.”

“Just goes to show how little you know about baseball-”

“How did I miss this? I didn’t even know he left Philadelphia-”

“He probably hasn’t told anyone, he didn’t know if it would become permanent.”

“But wait! So he really lives there too? In the apartment?”

“Yup.” Just the one syllable feels heavy to push out.

“I can’t believe this-” Lorelai falls silent, and the click in her head is almost audible. “You’re living with Jess Mariano.” 

Rory starts talking before she’s ready to.

“We’re roommates, it’s temporary, and as previously stated he’s dating my landlord, I got some pretty definite proof of that last night-” Why would she say that?

“Oh my god! What proof?”

“Auditory.” Rory mumbles, has no choice.

“Jeez! I’m sorry honey.”

Rory clears her throat.

“What are you sorry for? I’m fine.”

“Then what are you calling your mommy for?”

“Maybe I’m calling my best friend to gossip.”

It is useful to always be able to flip that switch.

“So, you’re okay with this?”

“Completely, in fact, we went for this breakfast and had a great conversation, it’ll be great, and his girlfriend knows about everything and is great with it.”

“Oh really?” Lorelai’s voice is flat. “Knows about everything? And you used great too many times.”

“Okay, so maybe it was a bit awkward, but that’s exactly why this is a good thing, we have to be able to hang out, he’s definitely a part of our lives now, right?” Deflecting like a master.

“Of course.” Lorelai sighs on the other end. “Fine, good, well I’m happy if you are.”

“I am.” She sounds like a crazy person, but at least it’s genetic.

“Uhm, okay, so… will I see you next weekend?”

“A deal is a deal, just gotta unpack, and see a guy about a job.”

After she hangs up she heads back, and goes straight to her room. She sits in her armchair, while the conversation runs off of her and she goes back to normal. Eventually she wills herself to get up and open a box. There’s a wardrobe and a bureau into which she empties her clothes, she unpacks the rest of her books. A good portion of them never left Stars Hollow, and the minority of them that got to follow her to Yale have been in boxes at Lorelai’s for the last year while she’s been on the road. 

For a moment she misses her room in Stars Hollow so much it hurts, it’s like just a part of her left there. She reaches into her box and lifts out the last few books. Her worn copy of Howl is there. Funny, she can’t remember bringing it to Yale, or reading it since High School really, it’s been laying behind the rest of her books, covered in dust, but there. Now she places it with the G’s.

She finds her copy of The Subsect and her heart skips a beat. She’s so darn proud of him, it’s actually kind of hard to handle, and the recollection of him showing up to deliver her copy in person along with a spoken word version of I’ve Had the Time of My Life even more so. She shakes her head, smiles with trembling lips, it’s still one of her most beautiful memories. 

When she lifts it out of the box a couple of notes fall out of it. It’s her recommendations. Her joke that wasn’t a joke, she actually wrote a few and even implemented her plan at a couple of book stores in Hartford and New Haven, then of course Philadelphia happened and she couldn’t do it without perishing from shame, so she stopped, put the recommendations into her copy and did her best to forget about it, merge it into his words on the two of them being what they were, whatever that was. She still feels it to be honest, the shame, but has managed to develop some sort of strategy for managing it. She takes a deep breath, shapes the words with her lips; It is what it is, whatever it is. 

She picks up a review and chuckles as she places the book, cover out, in the book shelf, and folds her note over it. She takes a step back to look at the shelf while she folds the box. It looks good, the corner with the armchair and bureau too. Her walls are still empty though. She’ll have to decorate. She locates the picture of her grandparents and the one of her and Lorelai, places them on the bureau.

Friends. It’s what they’ve always been as far as he’s concerned. The absence of his friendship has never passed unnoticed, and there was a time when nothing hurt more. But she never felt for him like she felt for her other friends, he’s never been like Marty to her. They are something more, something… bigger. She loves him, okay? There are no other words big enough. You can love your friends. She’s relieved at their conversation the other morning, sees the need for a simple, disarming term for what they are, but it has to be temporary, like this place, this solution, she doesn’t want them to be forced into what isn’t them. She wants them to stay what they are, untamed if necessary, she has so little of that in her life. She resolves to protect it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referred to poem by Christina Rosetti “A Daughter of Eve”.


	4. The Al[ch]ebraist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jess is offered help studying.

**June 13, 2008**

A heat wave has draped itself around the city for the last two days and he’s already sick of it. The apartment is baking. Its size and weird crooked shape, the amount of closed doors makes it next to impossible to create a satisfying draft. He’s in the smaller common room, books spread across the table, trying to concentrate. The apartment is empty, everybody’s at work but it still doesn’t help. 

He gets up and walks into the kitchen. He pours a glass of the refrigerated water and wets a towel under the running faucet, squeezes most of the water out and puts it around his neck. When he gets back to the common room he actually manages to focus for a good few minutes. The towel helps, and the draft increases- shit, that’s the door. Muttered words pour in from the corridor. 

Rory. The realization is enough to send uncomfortable waves of heat through him. 

The odds are astronomical; The phrase has echoed in him every time he thought of her since she came here, like it can’t possibly be real. It’s been a week. A week of awkward smiles and polite kindnesses. Not completely authentic to them, but he’s scared of getting too familiar with her. There’s a loud bang as she kicks the front door closed. Seconds later she passes the door to the common room, stops, and takes a few steps backwards, peeking in.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

She’s in a navy blue skirt, a sleeveless blouse, and sandals. It seems airy enough, but her cheeks are pink, and her hair darker at her temples. In her hand is some kind of brochure, probably handed to her on the street, which she uses to fan herself. She sticks her tongue out and pants theatrically.

“It’s just, so warm.” 

“Summer in the city.” He confirms. “No work?”

She’s gotten a job at this online zine and from what he has picked up she seems to have the combined tasks of an assistant and junior editor, he has no doubt that she aces it, she’s been busy with it the last few days, leaving early and getting back late, but now-

“The office is in a horrible state,” she says, “Charlie told us to run for any available AC-unit.”

“Hate to break it to ya but you’re in the wrong place.”

She laughs.

“I panicked! I had to get home before I wound up tearing off my clothes in the middle of the street.” She pauses, a bit pinker. “I feel like my insides are dissolving. I gotta take a shower.”

He clears his throat.

“Good thinking. Getting ahead of the rush.”

“I would be willing to fight any rival for it right about now.” She lowers her fan and squints at him. “You’re not a rival, are you?”

“Got my own tricks.” He gestures at his towel.

“Good. Keep it that way. You know I could take you.”

He smiles.

“Are you gonna trash talk all day or-?”

“Going!”

She disappears and he sits, staring vacantly for a bit, waiting for his heartbeat to slow. It’s not just the idea of her, he recognizes his own voice inside his head. Shit. 

The shower starts running, it’s audible in the entire apartment, old pipes. He gets up and heads back to the kitchen for more cold water. When he walks back he sees the door to her room is open. He looks inside. Empty walls but books and records up, pictures of her family in frames, her bed made with her linen, he vaguely recognizes them, and her clothes on top of it. He spots The Subsect in the bookshelf, but the cover is partly obscured by a handwritten note. He squints in a vain attempt to read it without moving. 

The pipes wail, and he realizes he might be overstepping, just looking into her space. When he grew up he had no space to himself, he was used to being up close and personal with everyone, regardless of how he felt about them. That’s why he doesn’t mind being intimate with someone a mere thin wall away from roommates, usually. That’s why he never understood Luke’s desperate need for space in the apartment above the diner, he already had all the space he needed built into himself. But apparently that’s not normal, people react when you get within a certain proximity of them or their stuff, and especially when you act all distant about it. He’s worked on that since a while back, but apparently slipped this time. 

The water stops running and he stiffens, walks briskly back into the common room. She appears in the doorway again a couple of minutes later, wrapped in a robe, hair bunned up into a towel. She weighs between her feet. He tries not to look at her, and fails miserably. She smiles.

“This is a good place. You almost got a bit of a natural AC going here.”

He gets up.

“This is nothing, let me show you.” He walks back to her room. “I’m just gonna-” 

He walks inside, opening the door all the way, then the window next to the fire escape. The air through the apartment immediately changes course and gains speed. He turns to her with a small smile, she returns it and follows him when he heads back to the common room.

“Wow.”

He shrugs, sits back down on the couch.

“You have the best room for days like these.” 

“Good to know.” Her eyes fall to the books. “Are you studying?”

Her smile is ridiculous, he can’t not return it.

“Yes.” He admits.

“What subject?”

“Math.” 

“Poor thing.”

“It’s just for a practice test.”

“That you’re taking to practice so you’ll get good grades because you’re studying.” She sing-songs, half bouncing where she stands. 

He has to fight to keep his voice level.

“I think my ship has sailed on grades, I get points.”

“Because you’re studying.” She claps her hands.

“Jeez.”

The floorboards creak when she takes a few steps closer. He watches her warily. She sits down at the edge of the couch.

“Can I help?”

“I’m fine.”

“I wanna help. Please.”

Her enthusiasm is making her glow. He can’t keep having these reactions, maybe he has to stop avoiding her, it’s done nothing so far. He reminds himself of what she deserves from him, and thinks that this is exposure therapy. 

“Fine, weirdo.”

“Yay!” 

“But let’s sit in your room,” he says.

She reaches for the books but he stops her.

“Go change, I’ll get this.”

She complies and he takes his time marking the pages and gathering the books. Her voice comes through the wall.

“I’m ready!”

He walks into her room. She’s in shorts, and the same sleeveless blouse as before. Her hair is still wet, the water pools into small stains on her shirt, making it cling to her skin. He has to look elsewhere, and remembers the book. 

“You have your own bookstore going.” He nods at the shelf.

“Told you I was gonna do it.” She smiles.

He walks closer to the shelf and eyes the note. Words like unique, beautiful, true, makes him uncomfortably warm again and he can’t bring himself to read it properly. He smiles awkwardly at her, places the books on the small table by the armchair and goes to get another seat from the common room. When he gets back she's sitting down and has opened the books.

“Algebra, huh? What can I do?”

He snorts.

“I don’t know.” He sits down in the other chair. “I don’t even know how to ask for help. Teach me that and you’re tutor of the year.”

She wags her finger at him.

“That’s behavioural sciences, mister, think I’m cut out for that?”

“I think you could do anything you set your mind to.” He says, honestly.

“Look who’s talking!” 

She smiles widely at him, and he thinks about exposure therapy, and maybe they do that thing they do sometimes, a kind of telepathy, because her smile fades some, and she looks back at the books.

“Well…” She starts. “Let’s be like math club. Let’s talk about math, the properties of math.”

“Demented and sad, but okay.”

She asks him to explain a problem to her and he complies. She explains another one to him, and it actually helps. 

“Algebra was my weakness.” She says. “All unknown factors severely hinder my capacity for clear thought.”

“I couldn’t even say which mine was. It probably helps to participate in class if you’re gonna rank your favorites.”

She finds a bunch of theoretical questions that she juggles with, a few equations they perform timing themselves and comparing solutions. He’s not bad, but knows he really could use a lot more practice than what he’ll be able to motivate himself to get. He looks at her, she’s engrossed in her own equation. If she insists on doing more sessions he’ll have plenty of motivation, plenty of practice. Couldn’t he have figured this out at seventeen? She tucks still wet hair behind her ear, squints at her paper. He decides to allow himself this, to have her stir this in him, at least for the time being, it’s for his education after all, she’d approve, he’s sure. 

“All this tutoring is making me hungry.” She says after a while.

“Get something in the kitchen, mine’s the second shelf, right side in the fridge.”

“Oh, you don’t have to- I have-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you got your own pop-tart-stash, I just figured you-” He gets up. “Nevermind, we’ll make something together.”

She follows him into the kitchen and he picks out ingredients for a BLT.

“Sit down, it’ll just take a sec.”

He hears her pull out a chair and sit down. He pours her a glass of water and places it in front of her. She smiles.

“I’m sort of getting flashbacks to college here.”

He raises an eyebrow at her.

“Cramming sessions, getting food to keep going.” She explains.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s nice. Logan would buy food, anything quick with extra caffeine, and toss questions at me at any given moment.” 

Not distract her with card tricks, ice cream or car accidents. That idiot might actually have been better for her, and that hurts, but of course he would be, Jess Mariano is hardly any contest in the constructive department. And now she’s helping him study. Not that he needs it, but that’s not the point. It’s that she does it even after everything. At least he can make her a sandwich.

He makes one for himself too, hasn’t eaten anything since last night, it’s been too warm, still is, but she devours hers anyway, and he tries to keep up.

“That is delicious.” She says, mouth still full of food.

He used to think she was hard to please, now he thinks maybe as long as you keep her well-fed, caffeinated, in books, and tries not to piss off her mother she might be very happy. The two first are things he can manage, do well really, the last one… he’s gotten better at it. Too bad it’s too late for any of that.

“I worked at the diner, I know my way around a sandwich.“ He adds.

“I only know my way through one.”

He laughs.

They put their plates in the sink and go back to studying. She seems to genuinely enjoy herself, but he’s distracted. He looks around the room, the empty walls, the somewhat worn furniture, the fact that she’s trying to help him with High School math, one year after graduating Yale. Something is off.

“Do you miss him, Logan?” 

Why would he start there? Even the name feels wrong in his mouth. She tilts her head and looks at him.

“You mean Porsche guy.”

He chuckles, she falls silent, seemingly thinking about it.

“I miss school.”

His chuckle becomes genuine laughter. 

“I’m not even kidding,” she goes on, “the structure, the goals, the purpose-” She stops and looks at him, sort of apologetic, serious. “I know it’s all pretend but- Sometimes I feel really lost without it.”

He stops smiling. He should’ve just let it be, sometimes that really is for the best, now he has to try and be helpful.

“Well, school’s still there. I mean, you wouldn’t have to go as a student. You could teach, you obviously like it.”

She smiles crookedly.

“I probably wouldn’t be very good at it, look at my track record.”

“What about it?”

“You liked me and I still couldn’t teach you a thing. Imagine me in front of a classroom of hostile students.”

“You can’t use me as an example!” The words come easily, seems he’s been waiting to say this. “I was stalling to spend time with you. And, you may not have taught me any grammar but you taught me plenty.”

“Like what?” 

She laughs, self-deprecating, but plenty vulnerable anyway, so he has to answer, even if he doesn’t know how. He chews on his lip for a moment, then looks up at her, shooting her a smile.

“Behavioral sciences.”

She laughs, genuine this time.

”I guess I might be having some sort of identity crisis, I don’t really feel like myself.” She admits.

”Understandable. This is a big change from living in a tour bus and motel 6’s.”

She’s quiet.

”Did you feel like yourself on the trail?” He asks.

”I don’t really felt much at all, to be honest. It was super interesting and all, but I was just, so busy all the time. I managed fine, it suited me, but then mom called about grandpa and it was like I remembered that I was a person, like I hadn’t thought about myself in months.” She sighs. “But enough of me, I’m sick of me. What about you, Kurt?”

His chest aches from the reference, but it’s a good ache.

”I’m fine. I got a few more people I care about these days-”

She smiles in recognition.

”That’s right, you’re a big brother now. What’s that like?”

She shoves him lightly and he pushes back.

“You have a sister too, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “But I kinda missed that from the get go. Even when my parents were married, she was living with her mother and-” She stops abruptly. 

“And?”

She takes a breath and looks at him flatly, matter-of-factly.

“I still can’t think about her without thinking about how angry I was with him, so…” She swallows. “It’s not her fault, but I don’t really see how to start anything there.”

They look at each other and he’s reminded how similar some parts of their lives truly are, even if he doesn’t want them to be. She smiles. 

“And I asked you first.”

He clears his throat.

”Uhm… terrifying, but not terrible. I’ve only met her like four times in total, but she makes an impression.” He smiles. “Makes me think about what I’ll do a year from now, where I’ll be when she’s a teenager, and I never used to think like that, at all.”

“Has Nicks met her?”

Her voice is low, but he blinks at the question anyway, didn’t see it coming. Then he shakes his head. 

“I don’t think Stars Hollow would agree with her.”

“Right.”

“And, that’s a part of me, I haven’t-” He sighs. “Seems too complicated.”

Possibly modified as far as truths go, now that he thinks about it. It’s just, easy being with someone who has so much going on, so much baggage, and who likes to talk about it. It makes his shit seem insignificant for once, like it doesn’t matter, like it doesn’t have to.

“She’s not exactly from a traditional background herself.” Rory says. “And I’m sure Luke could tell you a thing or two about the dangers of compartmentalizing.”

It’s too much to think about right now. 

“Yeah, well, we’re not there yet.”

He tries to put an end to the conversation. She doesn’t let him.

“You in love with her?”

“I don’t know.” He hears how that sounds, smiles, and tries again. “Not yet at least. I like her, I genuinely care about her.”

She doesn’t respond, just sits there and looks at him, so he keeps filling the silence.

“We don’t talk about love, it’s not our thing.”

I love you. His own desperate words echo in him, and the feeling of needing to say them, or he would die. It’s not just the idea of her, the changes she inspired in him, it wasn’t then and it isn’t now. He keeps talking, tone louder to drown out knowing that.

“Maybe it’s not the kind of love people write songs about, but it’s there. I don’t wanna hurt her.”

She looks at him for a beat, then nods. He has no idea what expression he’s wearing. He’s free falling, and grasps for something to hold onto.

“I’ve been thinking that you’re meant to learn about love from your parents and mine were kinda useless like that so-”

“So you had to figure it out yourself, how to show someone you cared about them.” She fills in, with some haste.

“Right.” He pauses. “And I’m sorry you had to-”

She interrupts.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” He looks at her. “But you should know I- It was my first try so-”

She takes a slow breath.

“You’ve gotten better.”

“I hope so.”

She nods and smiles, lips pressed together. She turns her attention back to the books. She browses a few pages, seemingly at random, then looks up:

“About that log-”

He laughs, relieved.

“-Have you read The Kite Runner?” 

“No. But I did read A Thousand Splendid Suns.”

“Darn.”

“You’d like mine.”

“And you should read mine.” She smiles. “But we should probably just start our own book club. To save time.”

To keep thinking about the oddity of the odds of them being connected in more ways than they already are just seems like another form of denial. What’s the use in talking about odds when something’s meant to be? She is here, and books is the thing they can always come back to. The thing that always offers solid ground. 

“Bring it.” He says.

**June 18, 2008**

Next week the wind has picked up, cooling the city some. He’s been able to study a bit more efficiently at the library, and just imagined her silly enthusiasm when he’s been about to lose motivation. It’s for his education. He’s heading up the stairs. The neighboring door is open, loud music echoes up and down the walls of the staircase. When he picks out his keys, Adam walks out into the hall, a bowl of cereal in his hand.

“I thought I heard someone.”

“Yeah.” Jess sticks the key in the lock before remembering his manners. “Hey, thanks for the tickets to that show.” 

Adam has friends studying drama and a steady stream of theater tickets available.

“No problem.” 

”Nicks really digged it.” Jess adds.

”Knew she would.”

Adam leans on the wall next to the door, shoveling a spoon of cereal into his mouth, obviously not ready to let Jess go. Jess stifles a sigh, he’s gotten better on the whole etiquette thing but he has a long way to go. Adam speaks again.

“So, you got a new roommate?”

Oh-oh. He braces himself.

“Yup.”

“She’s cute, huh?”

Rory Gilmore. Cute. He’d laugh if he could catch his breath.

“I mean, nothing like Nicks obviously, but cute nonetheless.”

He’s all physical reaction, can’t produce a clear thought, only absurd, mute rage.

“She got a boyfriend?”

Shit. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“’Kay, thanks man.” 

Adam pats him on the shoulder and heads back into his apartment. Jess stands still for a few moments staring at his key in the lock before breaking the paralysis and opening the door. 

He meets Rory in the hallway. She waves a tool box in greeting.

“Hi,” he says, smiling more than he should. “Maintenance work?”

“I’m just dropping this off at Adams’s.”

His stomach churns from the conversation out on the stairs, Adam’s going to ask her out. He thinks about exposure therapy, distraction tactics and the fact that she would willingly spend an afternoon studying math with him. He stops her before she opens the door.

“Listen, what are you up to this weekend? We’re all going out if you want to come.”

She smiles brightly.

“I’d love to.”

He takes the tool box from her.

”Let me get that.” He says and steps back out into the hallway again.


	5. The Holy B[ee]rbarians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rory and Jess go out with friends.

**June 20, 2008**

Chris and Matt arrive early, but Jess has already waited for a while at the station, had time for coffee and a cigarette. They come with two big suitcases full of books set to be unloaded in a number of independent bookstores. Jess helps get them off the bus. Chris sleepwalks off heading for a public bathroom as soon as they’re set at the platform.

“What’s up with him?”

“He’s hung-over.” Matt reaches for Jess’s cigarette-pack. “Gimme.”

Jess hands him one and puts another into his own mouth, lighting them both. Matt takes a drag.

“So, are you coming today?” 

“For a while, got a meeting after lunch.”

“Lucky, or sneaky.”

“I like to think I’m both.”

Matt laughs.

“But we’re still on for tonight, right? I’m expecting your lady, too.”

“We’re all coming, Izzy too, and Mark’s got some place lined up for us.”

“And the famous Rory Gilmore?”

“Attending.” He lowers his cigarette, turns to Matt and gives him a good stare. “But man, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I would never!” Matt’s tone is that of someone who would definitely. 

There’s a pause while he takes another drag. Then he speaks again.

“I would just like to remind you what it was like the last time-”

“Jeez, Matt!”

“I worry, sue me!”

Jess opens his mouth to argue, but Chris returns, no point in letting the subject spread.

“So, which route are you guys taking?” He asks instead.

“We should split up.” Matt starts. “I’ll do Nomad’s Land, Valentine’s and Bookaroos-”

Chris interrupts, suddenly wide awake.

“No way man! I’m taking Bookaroos! We’ve talked about this.” 

“It makes no sense for you to be rooting around Tribeca, Bleecker Street’s all your contacts.” Matt smiles. 

He’s calm, in control, unlike Chris, who’s clearly grasping for words.

“You’re the worst!” He finally spits.

“Listen, I’ll let you take Bookaroo, but you’re on the hook for two more stores in that area, and that means pitching too, not just delivering.”

Chris glares at Matt for several seconds before giving up.

“Fine!” He grabs a suitcase and starts dragging it towards the exit.

“He has a crush on the clerk at Bookaroo, it makes him vulnerable.” Matt snickers.

Jess shakes his head, puts out his cigarette and follows Chris, dragging the other suitcase.

They make their way to lower Manhattan and split up, but not before Matt has put extra books in Chris’s suitcase. Jess joins Chris despite it being out of his way, he needs the help. 

“You shouldn’t let him jerk you around like that.” Jess remarks.

Chris shakes his head.

“It’s okay. I got too drunk yesterday, let him do all the planning.”

Chris heads into their first stop, a small bookstore that’s mainly taking in their poetry. It’s a pretty stiff interaction with the clerk who’s used to communicating with Matt, the real poetry nerd among the three. Jess goes to get take-away coffee and water for Chris, mostly as an excuse to get out. He meets up with Chris back on the sidewalk. Chris empties his cup and opens the water bottle.

“Thanks.” He drinks half of it in just a few gulps then keeps walking. “I do miss you in Philly though. I wish Nicks would consider gracing the city with her presence more permanently so we could have you back.”

It’s not in Jess’s nature to tell him that the feeling is mutual, luckily Chris doesn’t mind either way, it’s one of his best qualities.

“So, I hear you got a new, esteemed roommate.”

“Oh good.” Jess mutters.

Chris ignores his tone.

“How’s that going?”

“It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. I shouldn’t have told Matt to begin with.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. Jess sighs. He usually prefers confiding in Chris anyway due to his vast amounts of chill.

“I guess I panicked.” He starts. “I’m not exactly well-versed in relationship etiquette.”

“So, what did you wind up telling Nicks?”

“The basics, we were a thing, how I- what I felt, that it’s done with.”

Chris stops, and lets go of the suitcase. He clenches and unclenches his fists, straightens his back, twists his torso, stretches his arms, all the while looking at Jess.

“Just, mind yourself, man. Be careful.”

Jess gives him a look.

“What do you think I’d do?”

“I meant be careful with yourself.”

Jess looks down, extracting and lighting another cigarette.

“Not sure I’m built for that.” He mumbles.

“Well, work on it.” Chris sighs. “You know I don’t do relationships, but my parents split up when I was ten, I know about that stuff.” He stands up straight again, readying himself to keep dragging the suitcase down the sidewalk.

Jess follows. Chris is not a busybody like Matt, and he’s more into nuance. Jess decides to ask.

“So, got any advice, guru?”

Chris laughs, shoves him, but leans in. Maybe he actually has something useful to say.

“Here’s the truth everybody knows but keeps secret: you’re with who you’re with now because it didn’t work out with who you used to be with.”

Maybe not.

“Duh.”

“No seriously, think about that.” He turns his back and keeps on walking while talking. “You choose to focus on the new thing, but the old thing, it still…” He pauses. “My dad never got over my mom, that’s for sure, didn’t stop him from getting hitched with my stepmom.”

Liz’s new boyfriends were always the best she ever had, no matter their actual quality, so Jess’s experience isn’t like Chris’s, Luke might be a closer comparison but he doesn’t feel like thinking about that.

“That sucks.” Jess mumbles.

Chris shrugs.

“It is what it is.”

There it is. Why would he say such a thing? What does it even mean? It’s a Hail Mary. A tether to keep from losing what he couldn’t bear to lose, at any cost. 

They walk on in silence, drop off books at two other places before finally arriving at Bookaroos. Chris stops right before it and fixes his hair in the window reflection of the shop. Jess chuckles but helps him get the stuff inside and does the heavy lifting so Chris can do the flirting with the clerk who, unfortunately, seems immune to his charm.

* * *

**June 20, 2008**

She’s been busy since she started at Pulse, working long hours and crashing as soon as she’s gotten home. Pulse is a glorified city-guide, add-run, and they do stories for money, interview people opening clubs and restaurants, she finds herself mainly hunting advertisers, both as an administrator and a journalist, but she has too much else to think about to dwell on that. She spent last weekend in Hartford overseeing her grandfather’s reinstallment into the house, and worked even harder after that. She hasn’t had time to get to know any of the people she lives with since the night she moved in, wanting to and not wanting to at the same time. So, she was genuinely happy to get asked to join the party by Jess, it’ll be easier in his company.

She gets home and jumps in the shower, changes clothes and does her make-up, before joining her flatmates in the kitchen. They cook together under Mark’s direction, when he tries to recreate one of his restaurant’s best pasta dishes. The mission fails and he spends the meal grumbling under his breath over the chef that supplied him with misinformation. Rory enjoys the food anyhow and the company, listening to Izzy and Paula swapping war stories from when they last went out. Once they’re done eating Mark and Izzy rinses off the dishes - it’s their week - and the rest finish off a bottle of wine. Nicks and Paula argue over the music. Nicks sits, her back to the wall and her bare feet in Jess’s lap. His hand rests on her wrist, thumb moving slightly. Rory blinks as she realizes he’s looking at her, and determinedly redirects her gaze to Paula, who’s arguing in favor of Alicia Keys. She weighs in with her vote and suggests a song that ends the debate between the girls. 

The phone to the front door rings and Jess hurries to open and returns with two familiar guys. Everybody gets up and reaches for handshakes and hugs.

“Rory, you remember Matt, Chris?”

“Yes, from Truncheon.”

“Right, you were there that one time.” Chris says and tilts his head at her.

If he knows anything about her other than her being there that one time he doesn’t signal it and Rory nods and smiles, grateful, but blushes at the mere thought, seriously, when is that going to stop? Matt makes an attempt to get to her, some determination on his face, but Jess interrupts it.

“You better change, you look like you slept under a bridge.”

Nicks laughs, and Matt glares at Jess.

“Thanks.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

Matt does as he’s told, though, jumps in the shower while Chris shovels leftovers into his mouth standing up.

They walk together, the evening’s pretty, warm. The place is a biergarten type of pub with long tables and uncomfortable seating. Mark may have picked it, but with some, obvious reluctance; It’s chosen because of its size, not its style or clientele, he makes a point of pointing out. They get a table and sit down; Paula, Nicks and Izzy on one side and Rory on the other next to Mark. She moves in to make room for Jess and he smiles at her. Matt and Chris have ordered pitchers and come to sit down too. She scooches in to make more room and Matt squeezes in between her and Mark, while Chris resolutely orders Jess to get glasses for them and takes his place as soon as he’s gotten up.

“We’ve been dying to dig for information on Stars Hollow-” Chris explains.

“And teenage Jess.” Matt fills in.

Rory laughs, oddly relieved.

“You know Jess since before?” Izzy asks.

Before Rory has a chance to speak Nicks answers.

“They used to go out.”

She smiles calmly and Rory can’t help a thought that she’s eager, pleased to be able to show off her knowledge and serene acceptance of this whole situation, before telling herself that she’s monumentally unfair, that she’s lucky that it’s Nicks and not some other version of Shane.

She looks around, but it’s mostly Mark and Izzy that seems surprised by this revelation, Paula is obviously let in on it already and she makes a mental note on liking her, she should be able to extend the same courtesy to Nicks.

Within moments questions, guesses really, is hurtled at her, some from genuine curiosity and some just for show, and she’s not given time to respond to any of them.

“So you lived in the same place?”

“And you knew him when you were kids-?” 

“What was he like-?”

“Don’t tell me; Total brat, right?”

“Bad boy.”

“Humongous nerd, obviously-”

“Ten bucks says he wore a beret at some point.”

“Leave her alone.” 

Jess returns with glasses, setting them down in front of Matt and Chris with distinct bangs. He takes a seat next to Nicks. Everyone speaks over one another. Rory clears her throat.

“I’ll be happy to tell you everything about Stars Hollow.” 

Everyone at the table leans in, while Jess frowns at her. She smiles, and it’s a little edge pushing through the light irritation she’s feeling. 

“Yeah, I could tell you about the mysterious markings appearing in front of the town store one morning-” She speaks dramatically, gesturing like a fortune teller. “-or the time someone ruined the winning entry to the snowman competition- the disappearance of my neighbor’s garden gnome-” Scattered laughs travels around the table and a few low whispers, she keeps going. “-or, I could tell you about our annual bid-on-a-basket-fundraiser, and the time yours truly participated and sold her basket for- I kid you not- ninety dollars to one enthusiastic bidder that you all know as-”

“But why would you?” Jess interrupts with a drawl. “Sure, you managing to sell left-overs for that amount of money says a world about your marketing skills but apart from that, the whole place is very Smallmindsville, USA.”

“And you of all people lived there!” Chris fills in. “I don’t think it’s strange to be a bit curious about that.”

“Hey, have you read Sharp Objects?” Jess tries, aiming the question at Rory.

She laughs coldly.

“You can’t distract me with books-”

“Why not? It’s always worked before.”

“Stars Hollow is not that bad, and you know it.”

“How about A Confederacy of Dunces?”

“Whatever this is it’s boring me.” Mark interjects.

“Fine.” Matt says. “But don’t think you’re off the hook.” He gestures at Rory and Jess, before turning to Nicks. “Speaking of books, what are you working on now, Nicks?” 

She smiles.

“A few pieces on collectives, I’m going all over town, talking to people, taking pictures, trying to tie it into something about family.” She winks at Rory. 

The conversation goes on as Mark starts talking about other places he’s lived. Nicks leans against Jess’s shoulder, and Rory feels like she’s twisted something, and fidgets in her seat. Chris and Izzy return the empty pitchers and get new ones. The conversation goes on, covering a bunch of experiences of shared homes, collectives, summer camps, dorm rooms before turning to roommates and live-in-partners. The stories get more frivolous, voices louder, time moves quicker. 

Matt and Chris insist on their places and she can’t decide if she’s flattered or annoyed, they keep her plenty busy with party tricks and anecdotes on writers and their respective histories- Matt went to Penn State and disappointed his family by going into publishing while Chris is the pride and joy of his family for making something of his teenage zines on the bands he liked- But she was really hoping to get to know her flatmates a bit more, and the guys don’t really ask her anything, like they’re not interested or, like they already know all there is to know. All Jess could tell them anyway. 

She gets angry as the realization dawns on her. She glares at Jess occasionally but Nicks and the girls keep him busy on his row, lively debating politics with Mark chiming in when he finds them particularly annoying. Why did he even invite her to come? 

“So, you’re exes. How come?”

Izzy winds up being the one asking, and Rory is surprised after a good hour of anonymity. She blinks at Izzy who leans across the table, her cheeks rosy, clearly drunk enough to express curiosity, but smiling, looking between Jess and Rory. He finally looks at her. She cocks her head to the side, and meets his eyes.

“I don’t know. Was it because you kept things from me, or because I couldn’t bring myself to trust you? Or was that like a chicken and egg situation?” She starts, rallying.

Like a good soldier he chuckles and rolls with it.

“Probably. Or, you know it could be that everything had to be family-approved with you, or the fact that I couldn’t get along with one of them.”

“Good point. Then again you also failed to take me to prom-”

“-not to mention graduate high school-”

“-while school was my only true love-”

“-and I was sick of being the other woman.”

“True.” She laughs, and can’t figure out how she’s both angry with him and hungry for more of their interaction, maybe because they’re so good at it, after all. “But then again you did leave without a word.”

“Well, I’m sure Dean had an oversized shoulder for you to cry on.”

Too good at it. Too close. Her smile freezes on her face and his is cold to match. Had they been alone this would have turned into... something other than just banter. But they’re not, so she redirects the conversation, sort of. 

“Hey, have you read You Suck (A Love Story)?” 

“Wow, I didn’t peg you as a Vampire chick, you read Twilight too?”

“Hey, if it’s anything like Let the Right One In, I think I’ll enjoy it.”

“That reminds me; I still got that copy of Please Kill Me.”

They stare at each other for a second before Paula breaks in.

“Wow. You seem like a terrible match, why were you even together?”

Rory turns to her sharply. Swallows. It’s hardly the first time someone has asked her that, only this time she doesn’t feel like retreating, she’s had a few beers and has some fight in her. She looks back to Jess and his eyes are already on her, resolutely, like he could answer that question in a second, she smiles a little.

“I guess, I was kind of-” She takes a breath. “-lonely in a way, before I met Jess. I had a lot of people in my life, who loved me, but no one who really… got me. And, I don’t know, maybe that’s too much to ask, but- I felt like you covered a lot of ground, like I was less alone.”

He smiles back, but not in a cheery way.

“It ended badly,” she goes on, “but we made sense in a lot of ways. We had a lot in common.”

“Books.” He offers.

“Music.”

“Only child.”

“Absent dad.”

“Crazy mom-” He says, smile widening.

She gasps in faux-outrage. 

“And have.” He adds. “We have that in common.” 

His smile is warm again, she has to return it. There’s silence between songs and she notices the pause in the conversations with the others as well. She looks at Nicks who’s gaze darts between her and Jess, slight smile on her lips. It’s interrupted by Matt getting up.

“Another round?” He asks.

“Not for me.” Nicks says. “Early morning.”

“I’ll walk you to the subway.” Jess gets up and helps Nicks out of her seat. “I’ll be back in a while.” He adds.

Paula decides to go as well. They say their goodbyes and the three of them disappear. By then, conversations have picked up again. Matt collect drink orders.

“How ‘bout you?” Matt turns to Rory. “Another beer?”

“Sure.”

“Come help me carry.”

The two of them head to the bar. As the bartender works, Matt leans on the counter, looking at her, he opens his mouth and closes it again, chuckles and shakes his head. She ignores it as long as she can. Then:

“What?”

He taps his fingers on the counter and leans back towards her.

“I can’t believe you guys are living together.”

There’s that hint again, that there’s nothing she could tell him about her and Jess.

“Is there a reason you waited until Jess was gone before bringing this up?” She keeps her tone tight. 

He goes on as if he didn’t hear her. 

“I’d go nuts if I had to live with… any ex of mine.”

“I think that says a lot more about you than me and Jess.”

He snorts.

“You’re not at all bothered by this arrangement?”

“Nope.”

“Really?” 

“We’re friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah!” She almost stomps her foot. “It’s the adult thing to do.”

“Adult schmadult.” 

He gestures vividly, clearly drunk. She can’t help laughing. He leans closer, smiling winningly.

“Nevermind, let’s drop the subject,” he shoves her shoulder with his softly, “you wanna get out of here? Go for coffee?”

She stops smiling.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

“Why?”

“Well, because-” She starts, slightly panicked.

He widens the space between them again, and looks at her triumphantly, it was all an act.

“See, you’re a lot smarter than you pretend to be.”

She laughs, coldly this time.

“Maybe you’re just not my type.”

“Oh, I’m definitely not, despite this serviceminded, one size fits all schtick you’ve got going. Just, try to tread lightly, would you?”

She tilts her head, not giving him anything.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. Jess doesn’t seem completely un-bothered by this. He still thinks you’re all that.”

She straightens, readies herself to just walk away, he can carry his own damn beer.

“He’s great at multitasking then, seeing as he’s with Nicks.”

Matt shrugs.

“He wasn’t okay after you last left, just so you know.”

She’s angry and ashamed, can’t keep it out. The night at Truncheon comes back to her; his smile when she showed up, his eagerness to get close, how good it felt to let him, how she almost forgot about her broken heart, her broken ego - his face, his words. He didn’t deserve that, even if she’d convinced herself he kind of did, that he wouldn’t mind either way, because that’s the kind of guy he was, the kind of guy everybody told her he was, even himself. But he isn’t that guy, maybe he never was. 

Her throat stings. It must show too because Matt’s expression softens, he looks concerned, and maybe even a little scared, looks toward the exit. She’s got him. He doesn’t know her, not at all. She sticks her chin out and nails him with a glare.

“Well, I wasn’t okay after he left either.” She says firmly.

Matt blinks, and shoots her a small apologetic smile before returning his attention to the bartender. She lets him pay and starts carrying drinks back to the table. Her honesty feels good. Her anger too, even if it partly is with herself. 

Chris has moved next to Izzy and the two of them are in deep conversation with each other. Mark is squinting at his phone while texting. She sits down next to him anyway and ignores Matt when he gets back. He takes a seat next to Chris and Izzy instead but their talking is distinctly for the two of them. He looks a bit lost for a moment before Mark takes pity on him and strikes up a conversation. 

Rory misses Yale all of a sudden, badly, and comes to think of a poetry reading she went to on campus with Logan a couple of years ago. She wanted to go, he wanted to be with her, but wound up hating it, calling it absolute gibberish, she disagreed but could not argue her case, as it usually is with poetry. Now she recalls a specific line that stuck with her; For a while I thought I was the princess. But I’m out here, breathing fire, and getting stabbed to death. So, I’m the dragon. Big deal. 

Yeah, big deal. Matt and Chris, or at least the former, wasn’t being friendly, he was keeping an eye on her. She’s just about to excuse herself and call it a night when Jess returns. 

The relief when she sees him is a thing of beauty. They’re back in each other’s lives and she’s less alone, that’s all she feels right then and there. You still get to be the hero. She smiles broadly at him, and he halts slightly and returns it. He sits down next to her and it feels safe to have him back. 

”You okay?” He asks.

She nods. He frowns.

”Rory?”

She manages a smile.

”I am now.”

He doesn’t smile back, but turns and glares at Matt who excuses himself to use the bathroom. Jess is silent beside her. Her heart is pounding, her conversation with Matt still in her chest. 

”Jess-” 

He looks at her.

“Are you-?” She starts.

“We’re good. You and me.” He interrupts. “Okay? No matter what Matt might’ve told you, he just needs to be up in everyone’s business.”

She swallows.

“Okay.”

“We are good aren’t we?”

It’s more complicated than that, but it doesn’t seem like it when she looks at him, she’s just happy to see him. 

“Yeah.” She smiles again. “How could we not be when we’re starting our own book club?”

He laughs.

“Good. I’ll get another beer, and when I get back we can argue and never agree on which books to read.”

He gets up and executes the first part of his plan, but when he gets back the collective conversation has moved on to other things, like how screwed they would be if Cloverfield really did happen, landing on them being fine.

“Monsters always go for the hallmarks.”

“Would they really though?”

“Oh, you bet! Probably thinks of ‘em as rivals or something.”

“Same principle as lightning, just stay away from tall buildings-”

“Or don’t actually be the tallest point-”

“Now, other catastrophes on the other hand-”

“Yeah, if a tsunami comes you’d wanna be in Manhattan.”

“Anywhere with high hills-”

“Or tall trees-”

“On rooftops.”

This goes on for a while. She yawns. Jess pushes her side slightly.

“Tired?”

“No. Yes. Hungry.”

“Oh-oh. We better take care of that.”

He stands and pulls her up by the hand. 

“We’re going, you coming?”

Chris and Izzy get up, Mark stays seated.

“My guy’s picking me up, we’re staying at his place.”

Jess looks at Matt, who still can’t quite face him.

“I’ll wait with Mark. Take a cab back.” He mumbles.

“You can have my key, sleep in my room if you like.” Mark offers.

“I think I’ve had enough for tonight anyway.” Matt says.

Jess nods.

“Yeah.”

They walk. Chris and Izzy run around like high teenagers taking turns singing and carrying each other. Jess and Rory walk slowly behind them, smiling at their shenanigans.

“Is it safe to let them run free like this? What if there’s a car?”

“Don’t worry, you let Chris loose after five beers he’ll track and hone in on the nearest churro stand.”

“Oh yes!” She squeals.

“It may look chaotic, but it’s just part of the process.”

“Can you change his settings? I was thinking donuts too.” 

He laughs, it’s nice, so she carries on. 

“And, also, I’ve noticed there’s a severe lack of pop-tarts at the apartment.”

“Really?”

She nods.

“It’s really keeping it from reaching the level of pop-tartment.”

He shoves her, and it’s kind of nice too.

“Don’t worry, there’s a bakery a few blocks down.”

“Is there a grocery store as well?”

He smiles.

“And a coffee place.”

“You’re the best.”

They get a copious amount of baked goods, and eat a good deal of the churros on the sidewalk, before continuing back to the apartment. Jess, Izzy and Chris all smoke a cigarette each before heading up. Jess and Rory set up the box of donuts in the kitchen. He goes for CD’s and she lights the two candles at the table. He comes back into the kitchen with a bit of a hesitant smile. 

“What?” She says.

“They’re not coming.”

“Why?”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Oh.” She lets out a silent laugh. “More for us then.”

“Yup.” He sits down.

She thinks about the night she moved in.

“I wonder how sound travels from Izzy’s room to here.” She mumbles.

“We don’t have to find out.”

He blows out the candles and grabs the box. She follows him out of the kitchen, to her door. She unlocks the room and tries to ignore any and all sound from Izzy’s room. He walks into her room and opens the window, climbing out onto the fire escape. 

“Grab your blanket.” He says.

She obeys and hands it to him. He spreads it out on the grating and she climbs out and sits down. He closes the window and sits down next to her. They lean on the wall and listen to the noise from the streets that effectively drowns out any residue from the apartment.

“So, why didn’t anyone ask you what you’re working on?” She asks after a few minutes.

He chooses that moment to pick a donut out of the box.

“Cause I’m not writing right now.”

He takes a bite and chews it slowly, eyes on his coffee. She forces herself to stay quiet, this habit of incessant speaking tends to help people hide, she’s discovered. He looks at her and smiles slightly. 

“I haven’t written anything since The Subsect, nothing big anyway.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know why. I haven’t felt like it, I’ve been busy, learning the trade, the relationship stuff, landing at this GED-decision.”

She can’t very well object to that. He smiles and speaks, his voice humorous.

“Maybe I’m a one quasi-hit-wonder, or maybe I don’t have anything more to say.”

“I find that hard to believe.” She says earnestly.

“No, but listen,” he’s still smiling, but less mannered now, “when I wrote it I needed to, it was all I had.” He pauses. “But if I had to choose between being there, like that, and being here, I choose here, no question.”

“But-”

“This is the only stable thing I’ve ever had, that I’ve ever been able to sustain.” 

He looks at her, sincere. She doesn’t exactly know what he means, Truncheon or Nicks.

“Okay. Sorry.”

There’s a pause, in the silence between traces of laughter from Izzy’s room can be heard.

“Won’t Izzy and Chris- Chrizzy- mean trouble, for the stability of things?” Rory asks.

He smiles at her.

“I appreciate your concern, but I think they’re a good match. None of them really date in the traditional sense, they just sleep with people they like, it’ll be fine. It might even be good news.”

“So it’s politics.” She shakes her head with a smile. “You sly dog.”

He shrugs.

“Public relations.” 

“Private relations.”

He chuckles. She stays quiet until she can’t anymore.

“I just hope you don’t fall into someone else’s mould.”

“You’re so full of it, miss Living-up-to-everyone’s-expectations.” His response is immediate, like he knew she wasn’t done.

“Well, that’s not for you.” She protests.

“Maybe I want some of that for me.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, that’s all.”

“Neither is my life.”

She stares at him, moments pass, he shakes his head.

“Fine, you want me to write, I’ll write.”

He gets up and climbs the shaky staircase. 

“Jess-” She starts, hesitantly.

“No. Come on. Let’s make it into an extreme sport.”

“Stop messing around!” She looks after him, but he’s already reached the roof.

“Get your notebook.” 

She curses, but obeys, and climbs the staircase without looking down. The whole contraption seems to shriek from her movements. She climbs it slowly, looks up but sees nothing.

“Jess!”

His head appears from the top of the roof.

“Come on.”

She reaches the top. The roof is an empty space, with just a door to the interior staircase that looks like it hasn’t been used in years, placed in the middle. At least the light above it still works.

“I don’t know about this.” She whines.

“Just come here.”

She rounds the corner of the door and there’s a bench on the other side. He’s already sitting there, emptying his coffee cup. She hands him her notebook and a pen.

“You’ll pay for this mister.” She growls. “I’m putting you on a deadline. You got three minutes to write some spectacular observation about what you see… On dark rooftops.”

He smiles and takes the book from her, tapping the pen against his chin a few times before he starts scribbling. She looks out across the city while he writes, stretches in her seat, unwilling to get up. She reluctantly admits to herself it is pretty. She leans her head back and watches the moths flutter around the light. He swears lowly, whispers a little to himself, she turns her head and watches his lips move. She checks her watch.

“Time’s up.”

He scribbles more frantically.

“Pen down, mr. Mariano.”

She snatches the book from his hands, takes a few steps so he can’t reach her, and reads to herself.

_ People are always going on about the view. I don’t know, you can’t do a thing with it but watch. It drives me a bit crazy seeing every place I could be if only I was grounded enough to walk. I think I’d even prefer being underground ’cause at least then I could dig. But I envy the birds. _

She blinks at it and looks at him. He’s smiling like he’s pulling her chain. She smiles back, slowly and increasingly wicked.

“This is poetry.”

He snorts.

“You’re a poet.” She insists.

“Take that back.”

She looks at the paper again.

“God, I hate that you compare yourself to that drag Hemingway.”

“He wrote poetry too.”

“About farts.” She points at him. “And you admit it.”

He shrugs.

“Well, what is poetry, really? All words are pretty.”

She sighs and turns back to the view, backs up and sits down next to him again. They sit like that for a few minutes before climbing back down to her window. It’s worse going down and she swears she’ll never do it in the dark while under the influence again. They remain outside her window for a minute.

“Think it’s safe to go back inside?” She asks.

“Probably.” He answers.

She stands still, thinking of getting inside but finding she doesn’t really want to, that’ll mean the night is over, coming down. He stands silently too, at first, next to her, but then he speaks, and the words are quick, low.

“Why aren’t you dating anyone?”

She stiffens, smiles a bit, and glances at him; He’s staring intently at the glass.

“What do you mean why?” 

“You haven’t been single the whole time I’ve known you.”

She stops smiling.

“I have, you just weren’t there for it.” 

There’s silence. She exhales quickly.

“You want me to date?”

“I-”

She can’t stop her next words. 

“Think it’d make it easier if I did?”

“No!” He answers sharply.

She stands as still as she can, afraid to move. He shakes his head.

“Maybe.” He admits.

She can’t make sense of this, she’s drifting, so, she clings to what she does know.

“Well, I don’t wanna date anyone. Not just anyone.”

He sighs.

“What are we even talking about, Jess?”

He looks at her, finally.

“I don’t know. I’m drunk.” He mumbles.

She forces a smile.

“Me too.” She grabs the last donut from the box, and opens the window climbing inside.

“You know, those are just gonna make you feel worse in the morning.” He says while following her inside.

“Maybe that’s true for puny humans.” 

She takes a big bite, feeling the sugar stick to her cheek. He chuckles and shuts the window behind him. She wipes the grains off her face with the back of her hand and looks at him.

“Adam asked me out.”

He stops smiling. She licks her lips and stares at their reflection in the window - his back, her pale face - producing another smile, a shake of the head.

“But I’m not gonna go. I think it’d be weird.”

She doesn’t dare to look at him, doesn’t know why she told him, and feels, messy, like any reaction he might produce would upset her for no clear reason. She’s full, from sugar and bread and Matt’s stupid words, she realizes, drunk, tired.

“I should go to bed.” She mumbles, reaches for the box to put the rest of her donut back, and he grasps her wrist.

“I got it.” He says.

His thumb moves over the surface of her skin, before he releases her and grabs the donut instead.

“Okay, thanks.” She manages, looks at him without meaning to.

He’s looking at her and she gets the sense she could let him keep doing it and they’d be here for hours. She presses her lips together in a smile.

“Goodnight.” She turns and opens the door to the corridor without waiting for a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paraphrased poetry by Richard Siken “Litany in which certain things are crossed out”


	6. The [Her]story of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rory has a bad night.

**June 29, 2008**

They’ve been sitting for a while in his study under the pretext of looking over a few of his books, but the main reason was of course some peace and quiet. They’ve just remained there, him in his new ergonomic armchair, her in his old one, reading to him. They’re doing well ignoring the sharp voices and icy silences through the door, and suddenly she looks up mid-sentence just to find he’s drifted off. She glances at the watch, if she wants to get back to New York tonight she should get going. 

She closes the book. She gets up and retrieves the blanket from one of the armrests of his chair and spreads it over his legs, reaches for the handle under the seat and pulls it, tilting the chair backwards slightly. He’ll probably wake up soon, but instructions are to let him rest when he needs to. She looks at the watch again, but still sits down in her chair, watching him; He seems so small, he’s lost weight. She feels heavier from the observation, but still can’t bring herself to exit into the argument outside the study door. She can hear it pretty clearly now anyway. 

“Your childish behavior is the only reason she’s putting her existence on hold.”

“I haven’t asked her to do that.”

“She doesn’t need to be asked and you know that, and after twenty-three years I think it’s tall time you learned to keep up an exterior that bears some semblance to adulthood.”

Rory gets up and exits the study as quickly as she can, closing the door behind her. Lorelai and Emily fall quiet in their spots at the end of the corridor and look at her. She frowns and gestures at them to go into the living room, she herds them from there to the dining room, where she stops by the door to the kitchen.

“He’s asleep. With no help from you.”

Emily and Lorelai glare at each other momentarily before the former walks past Rory heading for the study. Lorelai leans on the door frame, mother and daughter look at each other.

“Was he okay?”

“The two of you being at each other’s throats doesn’t help.”

Lorelai sighs. Rory turns and goes after Emily, stops her before she reaches the study.

“Grandma, I have to go.”

Emily looks at her, a bit absently, but not angry anymore. She turns and follows her down the hall.

“How is New York?” 

“Fine, busy.” After a second she adds: “Nothing on hold about my life.”

Emily smiles bleakly.

“I’ll call and check in in a few days.” Rory says.

She kisses her grandmother’s cheek and lets her enter the study before heading for the door. Lorelai is waiting by it and hands her the jacket.

“Tell me about work.” She asks.

Rory slides into her jacket.

“Not much to tell, it’s cake. Nothing I didn’t do at Yale, including the occasional coffee run.”

“Well, do you like it?”

She shrugs.

“It’s fine. The content’s not my cup of tea, but, I know what I’m doing which is nice, just-”

“Just what?”

She’s not lying about work, it is easy. She’s good at it, without liking it much, without really trying. She’s starting to think that she’s good at most things, and maybe that’s her problem. It would be easy to get sucked into something she didn’t even mean to do. She’s starting to feel like she can relate to her father, even Logan, way too much lately.

She tries to remember when she last felt like herself, comfortable in herself, recalling mostly reading in her old room, watching dust float in the air, and that’s not a lifestyle-option, but- 

When she went back to Yale, that’s the last time. 

But, there was something different with her even after that, she’d started thinking of herself as lucky, so lucky, like a character from a story book, a role she knew well, that every girl knows well, not quite for her specifically, but not uncomfortable either, just plausible. She always has that option, go to college, find a husband, pick the road more travelled, but she wishes she didn’t. You can always come back but you can’t come back all the way.

“Just, something Mitchum said.”

“Huntzberger? That’s ancient history.” 

Lorelai looks worried, sounds upset, and she knows why, remembers what happened the last time Rory thought about Mitchum Huntzberger’s words. A great assistant. That’s what he said. And all Rory can think about is how comfortable her job is, dull for sure, but with a distinct place for her, or someone like her, and there might be many. And she has a stomach ache about the fact that someone as rotten as Mitchum may have had a point about her.

“Maybe.”

She tries to take her mother’s words to heart, but finds that the alternative doesn’t make her feel all that awesome either, she doesn’t miss the campaign trail. It all just seemed like someone else’s life, the last year. Not what she pictured, or, maybe exactly what she pictured, one she had been prepared to lead, just, not hers. 

She grabs her purse and walks out to her car. Lorelai follows her, wrapped in an oversized scarf.

“You could stay.”

“I have work in the morning.”

“Then why'd you let us keep you?”

“It’s fine, mom.”

She misses Lorelai as soon as she gets into the car, and a part of her wants to follow the Jeep to Stars Hollow instead, but- She’s just so sick of their dynamic at the moment, how she will fall into best-friend-or-my-mommy-mode as soon as she gets back to that house and won’t call Lorelai on the fact that she’s as much to blame for the constant arguments as Emily is. She doesn’t do this because there’s no point, her mother and grandmother -and even grandfather, when he’s up for it- seems to thrive from conflict. It makes her feel like she was born into the wrong family. And now, after a year on her own, and Richard falling ill, even more so. 

So, she drives south instead, the sky slowly darkens as she does, the world falling into it, until all she sees are the lights of other cars, her own headlights and the stripes of the highway disappearing behind her. 

She feels empty and alone and for a second she wants to stop the car and call Logan. Let him sweep in and scoop her up. It happened once already, in Sacramento. After they broke up she missed him, but was just, so busy. She worked all the time and was grateful that she didn’t have time to think about what had happened, but when the campaign reached California she cracked, called him, and he came, took her out, took her mind off things, and it was first when they landed back in his hotel room she realised she had nothing new to say. Neither did he, and all they wound up doing was crying for a bit. She went back to her motel, angry with him for not seeing reason, for being so stupid, for being right in a way, about where their story could go. She got up the next morning and went back to work. That was it. 

Now, all she can remember is how good it felt getting rescued, so she reminds herself that she really wasn’t, that nothing changed, that all it really did was change her focus for a little while. She forces herself to think that there’s nothing he can do, nothing, and it’s true. But neither can anyone else; She sees the end of Richard Gilmore clearly, and the path there, littered with chaos and still so unyieldingly straight. 

She blinks away tears, can’t stop the car, can’t stand the radio, so she mumbles a rhyme to herself instead: A broken bowl, that cannot hold, one drop of water for my soul. Jeez. What’s with all the Rosetti lately? 

**June 30, 2008**

It’s past midnight when she arrives and it takes a while to find a decent parking space and walk the distance to the apartment. It’s Sunday, or Monday to be precise, and this part of the city seems to be bracing itself for another week. She drags her feet climbing the stairs, and unlocks the door as quietly as possible. There’s a whisper of canny sounds scraping along the walls. She approaches the common room and the light from the TV moves against its walls. She leans in through the doorway. 

Jess is on the couch. His face is pale from the light, his hair on end, he’s in a black t-shirt and sweatpants. 

She has barely seen him since last weekend. She stayed out of Matt’s way the rest of the time they were here and that meant the rest of her roommates too, then on Tuesday night Izzy made some remark about how she’d never heard Jess put so many words together at the same time as that night they went out, and Rory was happy to work late during the rest of the week, leaving for Stars Hollow as early as possible on Friday. Now she’s forgotten why. 

His eyes flick to her, she smiles.

“Hi.”

He smiles too.

“Hi.” He points the remote to the screen and the sounds are muted.

She steps into the room.

“What are you doing up?”

“Nicks kicked me out, got tired of me tossing and turning.”

She struggles to fit this piece of information inside herself comfortably.

“How about you?” He asks before she succeeds. “You been driving ‘til now?”

“What about it?” 

She tilts her head, tosses her handbag in the armchair closest to her and slips out of her jacket. He smiles inwardly, shakes his head a little.

“I just got back from Hartford.” She says.

She sits down next to her stuff, leans her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. He straightens from his slouched seat.

“What’s up?”

“Tired.” She answers. “Driving back was horrible, and I got zero sleep last night, and I can’t keep track of my head. Like, I keep-” She stops herself and just adds flatly: “My grandpa has moved back home.”

“I was meaning to ask about that.” He’s still, eyes on her. 

“They’re fitting the house to accommodate his illness, ‘cause there will be more incidents.” She needs to say it. “It’s gonna kill him eventually.” She feels the cracks in her own voice at the end, and clears her throat. “But I don’t know, maybe I’m just using that as an excuse.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs. 

“I can’t help but feel a little relieved by this whole thing, working with something I’m used to handling, living here, with people who don’t really know me. Present company excluded.” 

She’s not sure where this is coming from, she hasn’t even thought these words to herself in the privacy of her own head.

“Sorry.”

“No, I like you knowing me.” 

Their gazes lock into each other’s. Right, that’s why she kept her head down all week, the realization burns her in an instant. But it’s true. Seems inevitable he knows her, and that he does it in a way that’s all his own, not like anyone else. So, she keeps talking, blowing off steam, she tells herself.

“Do you know Laurel Thatcher Ulrich?”

He chuckles.

“Not personally.”

“She’s a history professor at Harvard, she coined that quote that Eleanor Roosevelt usually gets all the credit for; Well-behaved women rarely make history.”

“Okay?”

“I think about that quote all the time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She takes a breath and exhales slowly. “I think I’m a really well-behaved woman. And I don’t know how that happened because my mother is on the other side of the spectrum and she raised me on that stuff, so-” She interrupts herself, she might like staying in a place full of strangers but apparently she needs this too. “I just feel inadequate, when I behave and when I don’t. And when I don’t- it hasn’t led to anything good, hasn’t made history, I’ve just ended up paying for everything with interest.” She pauses, and forcibly makes her tone lighter. “I guess you were right, it’s too rough for me.”

He laughs. She glares at him. He holds up his hands.

“I was being an asshole!”

She knows it, but is just too low to be amused. He stops smiling.

“Life is rough. No matter what you do.” He says. “You pay for everything, Rory, well-behaved or not, in some kind of currency.” He sighs. “And I doubt the quote was meant for what you’re doing with it.” 

“Life is just, not what I expected it to be at this point.” A broken bowl.

“That’s the problem with expectations.” He shifts in his seat, then leans toward her. “Lemme ask you a question: Did you ever take me up on my offer?”

“What offer?”

“To lie, about what happened at Truncheon.”

Her heartbeat picks up.

“Why? Are you trying to make a point or are you curious?”

“Can it be both?”

She can’t make out his expression, it’s almost… hungry. She clears her throat.

“Well, I could’ve just told him the truth; we kissed, that would’ve been pretty bad.”

He smiles, perfect mix of amusement and tenderness.

“But you didn’t tell him.”

“I let him believe what he wanted to.” She shoots out her chin.

“Which was what?”

“Probably that I’d never do anything like that.” She mumbles. “You know when I dropped out of school, it was because Logan’s father took one look at me and decided I wasn’t cut out to be a reporter. And the air just went out of me.” A broken bowl that cannot hold. “I lost my footing. And now I can’t stop myself thinking it was ‘cause he was right. Why else would I be so easy to knock over?”

“Stop.” He moves a seat over, closer. 

“He told me that and it derailed my life, and-” 

She falls silent but the rest of the sentence burns in her throat: you saved me. It’s first now that she sees it. He rescued her, he swept in, scooped her up, and actually made a difference. And she didn’t even need to call him. 

He leans in.

“He was just some guy who was in a position to hurt you and casually did it. It meant nothing to him. You can’t let it matter to you, still.” His voice is near a whisper but it’s firm, so sure. “When you just do things to try to prove him wrong, it’s gonna stop you from being free. You know what would’ve happened if I listened to all the shit people said about me?”

One drop of water for my soul. She swallows.

“I thought that’s what you liked about me.”

He frowns.

“What, that you wanted to be Christine Amanpour? No.”

She’s increasingly frustrated with this conversation.

“What was it then? What did you see?”

“Someone I wouldn’t have figured out in a week, someone I wouldn’t mind spending time figuring out. Advanced studies in Rory Gilmore, and you know how I feel about school.” 

She laughs, it’s a silent, taken sort of thing, almost a long needed breath. He continues.

“You were already this entire person, it was all inside you.”

She has to make a joke, or she’ll die.

“Like Dorothy.”

“Click your heels.” He smiles, accommodating.

“My mom always says she would’ve stayed in Oz.”

He laughs.

“I bet. And how about you?”

“I don’t know. There’s no place like home.”

“I think it’s a good thing to get to be homesick.”

“I guess, but I hate admitting it, makes me feel so… tame.”

“You’re not tame, Ror.” 

“Then what am I?” She’s beyond feeling bad about asking for his comfort.

“Something else.” 

She can’t for the life of her make out his expression, all she knows is that it makes her feel good about herself. 

“You kissed me and you didn’t tell him even if you could have told him more. It’s good and bad, you don’t need to be one or the other.” He leans backwards a bit again. “And changing your mind about what you wanna do, it doesn’t change who you are. I should know.”

”So. What do you wanna do now?”

”More. Something useful.”

”And you are. You’re getting that GED.”

He laughs quietly.

”You’ve got to stop gushing about that.”

”I do not!” She raises her voice and lowers it again when she remembers the time. “Jess, you didn’t graduate High School. It would have been so easy for you if you tried.”

He nods, serious again.

”I had stuff going on.”

”Yeah.”

”Stuff I didn’t tell you about.”

”Yeah.”

”Stuff I should’ve told you about.”

”Well, I still have those ears. It’s not too late.” She smiles.

The response came automatically, but she regrets it almost instantly, the thought of touching on their old issues tonight of all nights is overwhelming. He opens his mouth but hesitates too long. She goes on.

”My point is, you deserve this, I’m so happy you finally realized that.”

He looks a tad taken she decides, his eyes on the verge of darting all over but meets hers, as if he’s forcing it, holding an appropriate pause. Then he smiles.

“Thanks.” He drags a hand through his hair and picks up the remote control. “Wanna watch a movie? It usually helps me, something about committing my time for the next two hours puts me right to sleep.”

She nods, moves over to the couch and he makes room for her. 

“Say when.” 

He zaps between the muted channels. She sits, trying to get used to the proximity of him like this. He has no product in his hair, so he smells like himself, and a little bit like bed linen. She glances at his plain t-shirt, with holes along the rim, so thin it’s transparent in places, and his pants, strange, to see him in sweats. A minute or so passes, then: 

“You know, I dreamt about Luke dying, a couple years back, took me days to get over it.”

The thought of it is enough to chill her, but she shakes it off.

“That’ll never happen. He’ll outlive us all out of spite.” She says.

“Unfortunately not.” He sighs. “Your grandfather will go too. But not yet.”

The channel changes and Jurassic Park comes on, in the middle of the Brachiosaurus scene.

“When.” She yawns.

He leans back and unmutes the TV. A few minutes pass.

“Hey,” he says after a while, “have you read The Year of Living Biblically?”

She shakes her head.

“I hear good things though, I did read The Five People You Meet in Heaven.”

“I bet you liked that.” He shoves her shoulder lightly.

“I’ve read edgy stuff too!” She protests. “I read God Is Not Great in its entirety and I demand recognition!”

He laughs.

“The reason I ask is ‘cause that writer I mentioned the other day is having a release party for his book on the twelfth.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s written this observational compare-and-contrast manuscript on what it’s like being an irish-catholic from New York travelling the south, and ending with him visiting Dublin, I’m thinking you might like it.”

“If you want me to come to your party just say so.” She puts her finger to his side and he twists away from her with a grunt. “I’d come for whatever book you were releasing.” Then she gets serious, mumbles while trying to keep it casual. “Is Chris and Matt gonna be there?”

“No.” His answer is immediate, firm.

She breathes easier and sinks further into the couch. A few more minutes pass. He turns his head to her.

”Just fyi, you were wrong the other day.”

“Objection! What about?”

“It didn’t end badly.”

”No?”

”We’re here.”

It actually takes her a few moments to be able to respond. She chuckles and a thought overcomes her, she reaches for the remote and lowers the volume on the TV. 

“Everyone is making such a big deal about this, us living together. Why is that?”

He shrugs.

“I hear relapses are a thing.” He looks away and fiddles with a thread from his shirt. “And I hear you know a thing or two about that.”

He means Dean. It only stings for a second, she’s generally stopped feeling bad about that part of their relationship, figures she paid for it by them being wildly unhappy together. 

“That was different. I never looked at him like-” She stops herself.

He smiles, a little tightly.

“-A friend.” He finishes.

She nods. Her illusions on remaining friends after a relationship are mostly shattered, she knows by now Dean never meant it, and she can’t picture her and Logan doing it, since she can’t picture a scenario with them compromising, it’s never worked before. But Jess has been a surprise so far. She’s onto something now, and eager to get there, to find some common ground, even if they have to mould it themselves..

“I just don’t think that because it didn’t work out between you and I we should have to stay away from each other forever, it’s absurd.” She gestures for emphasis. “So what if we have a history? So what if we like each other? So what if some of that are leftovers from what we were? We’re obviously handling it. Pretty well too.”

“Right.”

He looks… soft, she settles with, his lips slightly apart and then pressed together in a smile, small, but warmer than before.

“You really helped me tonight and it’s like you’re the only one who could,” she says, “and it’s not the first time that’s happened either, and it makes no sense to cut that out of my life when I-” She pauses, but it’s too late to have second thoughts about what she’s about to say. “-need it.”

He takes her hand and squeezes it. She stops breathing. So rare. So good. His hand is warm, the veins visible on its back, she’s hypnotized by them and forces herself to look at his face, his gaze is locked to their hands too but meets hers. She tries smiling but doesn’t think it works, it feels more like a tremble. He blinks, pulls one corner of his mouth into a smile, squeezes her hand again and lets go. This is why she kept her head down all week. But it doesn’t make what she said untrue. They deserve to keep each other. They’re handling it. 

He picks up the remote.

The movie rolls and they take turns speaking along with the lines, then they get increasinlgly quiet. She has trouble remembering how she wound up on the couch, how she ended up feeling at ease, why she needed to. After a while she lies down, resting her head on one of the arms of the couch, pulls up her knees to leave room for him on the other end. Somewhere around the Gallimimus things start to blend into each other and then there’s nothing. 

Nothing until Jess’s voice in her ear. I’m gonna carry you. His arms around her. You can’t, she says, or thinks, but either way: Yes I can. And then there’s a shift and a sudden sense of panic and safety that keeps her under in spite of the first and she locks her hands around something, him, some part of him, tenses, and is rocked slightly before she senses her own room closing around them. She breathes him in deeply and doesn’t wonder why he did this instead of waking her up or leaving her there, she lets it be what she wants it to be, pretends she knows his mind too. She could wake up, but that would mean the end of this. There’s a tilt, and soft weightlessness, his nearness and the insistent grip on him. For a few moments there’s just that, and the released breath of him, heavy from having held onto it and her. So good, but not enough, she knows that, in the darkness of slumber where she doesn’t have to think about what that means. Then his hands grasp hers and peel them from him and his weight is lifted off her and replaced with soft darkness, and then that disappears too. 

When she wakes up she’s on her bed, in her clothes with a blanket kicked down by her feet. She goes to work. When she makes coffee later that night Jess wanders into the kitchen, his eyes locked in a book. He sees her and smiles wordlessly while he gets out what he’s there for. A simple overwhelming impulse overcomes her when she watches him, she wants to go over and put her arms around him, and she has to stop herself from taking the first step. She opens her mouth without having planned to, his gaze hooks into hers, question clear. She shrugs, smiles helplessly, pretends he knows her mind, pretends it would be possible, allowed for him to. They’re handling it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paraphrased poem is “A Better Resurrection” by Christina Rosetti, and unmarked lyrics from “Mississippi” by Bob Dylan.


	7. [There’s a crack in] A Brief History of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jess and Rory go for a walk.

**July 2, 2008**

They’re walking back from a late dinner. Nicks talks about her project. He yawns.

“Am I boring you?”

He stops.

“No. Sorry, I just slept like shit.”

She takes his hand. They keep walking.

“Go on.” He says.

“So, anyways, the places I’ve been so far in Manhattan are so boring, I mean, they’re basically boot camps for people on their way up, they’re so competitive, the worst kind of people you could imagine, just, living together.” She laughs. “And I thought, they’re so lucky to have found each other, ‘cause literally no one else would stand them, but, they don’t even have the sense to recognize that fact, they just seem to go on keeping their enemies closer.”

“Sounds like a drag.”

Nicks goes on.

“But the places I’ve been in Williamsburg, they’re a bit too familiar if you ask me, everybody’s sleeping with everyone, and you add the concept of family to that it gets incestuous.”

They round the corner of their building. He holds up the door for her, they climb the stairs and enter the apartment. Mark and his boyfriend are hanging out in the common room and Izzy’s working late. Rory’s door is closed and low music sneaks through it. He doesn’t stop to figure out the artist even if he wants to. Nicks notices him halting anyway, apparently.

“Of course, who am I to talk?” She says as they walk into the main bedroom, Nicks’s room. “Chris and Izzy, and maybe it’s just a matter of time before Paula gives it up to Matt.” Nicks laughs to herself and tosses her jacket on the chair in the corner, starts unbuttoning her shirt. “And you and Rory!”

There’s a sting in his chest at her implication, he forces a smile anyway.

“Rory and I never slept together.” He says.

Nicks stops mid-motion.

“Come again?”

“We were seventeen.”

She smiles, raises her eyebrows.

“So?”

“So for someone like her that’s young.”

She steps out of her pants, and wraps herself in her robe.

“‘Someone like her’?”

“Someone not like us.”

That explanation apparently works because she nods in recognition. He pulls off his jacket and shoes, gets into bed, arranging the pillows to sit and read.

“But you waited for her.”

Nicks is looking at him, head tilted.

“So?” He sighs.

She sits down at the edge of the bed removing her rings, her necklace.

“It’s cute.”

“Stop it.”

“I just assumed-” 

“Why?” He interrupts. 

He can’t put his finger on why he’s upset, by her asking, by the entire subject, by what never came to pass between him and Rory. Nicks seems unbothered by his tone however, and shrugs.

“The way you were when we first met, I figured you’d been serious enough to-” She pauses, chews on her lower lip. “You were just so broken up about it. and for that to be over someone you didn’t even-” She falls silent, notably frustrated with herself she taps her nails on the door frame.

He fails to pinpoint the reason for his own irritation, instead a simple fact, seemingly unattached to anything floods his brain; It’s not about her body, like some separate entity, it’s that it’s attached to her. He swallows and looks back at Nicks, who’s smiling at him, teasingly.

“And I have a hard time imagining anyone resisting you.” She adds.

“You didn’t know me when I was seventeen.” He mutters. “I wasn’t exactly Prince Charming.”

“Oh, like you’d need to be with those hands of yours.” 

She winks at him cheerily, back in her element. He doesn’t match her mood. 

“I didn’t know it was a sore subject.” She says.

He stifles a sigh.

“It’s not.” He says lightly. “It just, never happened.”

“Yeah, well, sex isn’t necessary for drama, apparently.”

“Nicks.”

“Fine.” She holds up her hands. “I’ll jump in the shower.” She says, and exits the room.

He picks up a book but winds up reading the same page several times while the thought from before pushes against his inside, it aches, the same way as it used to back in Stars Hollow. It’s that it’s attached to her, is her, it’s what she lives in, where she’s alone. That’s what makes him struggle. And just a few nights ago he carried it, her, held her close. He closes his eyes and listens for the whisper of her music intermingling with the murmur from the water pipes. Sparklehorse, he decides. Fifteen empty minutes pass and Nicks reappears in her robe, eyelashes stuck together from the wet. She rubs a towel over her short hair.

“You do decide who to rent to.” He says, picking up their conversation again.

She chuckles, tosses the wet towel over the wardrobe door.

“Oh, I’m well aware that I’ve painted myself into this corner, but it’s so far from the shit I used to deal with that it’s healthy by comparison.”

He gets up and takes care to put the book back on its shelf, keeping busy.

“So you’re okay with it?

She walks over to the bookshelf.

“It’s hardly the most awkward living situation I’ve ever been in.” She looks at him, then smiles, showing teeth. “I really didn’t have you pegged as a traditional guy.”

“I’m not, Matt was giving me a hard time.”

“That’s to be expected.” She walks her fingers up his arm.

He clenches his jaws, says what needs saying:

“I just wanted you to know that if you felt-”

“What? Felt what? And you’d what? Evict my tenant?”

It’s all rhetorical, she has her heart set on being the coolest, she sort of already is. He turns to her, puts some weight into his words:

“It’d be understandable, Rory would understand, I’d understand.”

She pats him on the cheek.

“You’re sweet.”

“I’m not.”

“Just ‘cause nobody ever called you that.” 

She smiles softly, inches closer to him.

“Nicks-”

“Yes,” she says, or maybe it’s his name, either way it doesn’t sound like a question.

She drops her robe to the floor, and puts her arms around his waist, a hand up his back under his shirt. They haven’t had sex in a while. He’s been too distracted. She kisses him and he responds to it, even if his head won’t quiet down. Maybe he can drown it out.

**July 3, 2008**

Hours later and he still can’t sleep. He hasn’t been able to for days. He’d love to blame the heat but is too tired for self deception. Nicks is sleeping next to him on her edge of the bed. She’s naked and the linen kicked down to the bed end, but her hair is still sticking to her temples. The window is open and the sounds from the street - cars passing, distant traffic, stray voices echoing through the alleys - fill up the room. He gets up and gets dressed, that’s what he misses most about his miniscule Philadelphia apartment: that he can walk around any which way as he pleases. Now he pulls on sweatpants and a t-shirt. He drinks some water in the kitchen, and heads down the hall for the shower. 

He notices Rory’s open door from the draft. The light’s off. She might be sleeping with her door open, for the ventilation and no one could blame her. He’s about to move on when he sees her silhouette on the fire escape. She has her back to the room, face to the city, the light from the street lamps contours the edges of her. There’s that pull in him, that frays him at the ends, to get closer, make it worse, and hesitation, a part leaning away from the pain. He speaks before his thought is finished. She’s gravity.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

It’s nearly a whisper but she jerks at the sound anyway. She reaches for the light switch but he takes a step into her room.

“Leave it.”

She leans back. He takes another step without meaning to.

“Why are you up?” She says.

“I asked you first.”

He’s at the window. She’s in shorts and a tank top, she moves a bit to the side making room for him. He climbs out and sits next to her. She shrugs.

“The heat, I guess. Also I realized I’m living in New York City, I had to seize the moment.”

He looks down onto the street, chuckles.

“You’re not impressed?” She says.

“I’ve lived here most of my life. One of the first apartments I remember me and Liz staying in is around here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, about ten blocks that way, by Fort Greene” he gestures vaguely.

“I could use a walk.” 

There’s something eerie about her voice, like it’s balancing on some kind of edge. He turns his head to her.

“Now?”

They look at each other for a moment, and things shift into place in him. A walk in the middle of the night, he’s done it loads of times, just never occurred to him to invite someone along. And she calls herself tame.

“Okay.” He says.

They climb back inside. She steps into her sneakers and ties a sweater around her waist, he puts on his jacket even if he won’t need it for anything other than carrying his cigarettes and keys, he laces on his old converses, worn and torn at the heels.

She lets a silent, breathy laugh when they’re on the sidewalk.

“What time is it even?”

“So late it’s early.” He responds. “Sure you wanna do this?”

“Yes.”

“This way then.”

They walk. Passing through mostly empty streets, a few after parties of different varieties, some places are still open, a couple that are about to, and one or two that never close. The facades of the buildings are peppered by open windows. There’s very little traffic, and when they cross the vacant streets he glances at her. She looks around, smiles, seems almost dazed. The lush greens of summer reach across the streets, sometimes blocking the sky. She moves closer to a tree trunk, running a finger over carvings in the bark.

“Hey, have you read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn?” She asks, smiling widely.

“Years ago.”

“How did you like it?”

He smiles.

“What do you think?”

She turns her face toward him and squints. He squints back.

“Can I answer after you’ve shown me the place?”

He laughs.

“Sure. If you wanna play it safe.”

She leans her body to his in a gentle shove that he enjoys way too much. They keep walking.

“So, where else have you lived in the city?”

“Well, after the place we’re headed, Liz dated someone from Manhattan, so we lived in the East Village for a while-” He has to go to the places in his mind to remember, which is probably why he doesn’t talk about it much. “-then she actually stayed with the same guy for a couple of years, we lived in Jersey for that, then Queens, Bushwick, and then Manhattan again, Greenwich-”

“Washington Square Park.” She fills in.

He smiles, doesn’t mind remembering certain places.

“Yeah. But we rented from a tenant of a tenant, and then… I moved to Stars Hollow. Liz stayed at that address until she met TJ.”

“Oh gosh, that’s right, Doula didn’t just appear out of nowhere.” Rory slaps her forehead.

“Unfortunately not.”

“That bad, huh?”

“For me, yeah, for Doula, no. TJ’s an idiot but he’s not mean, that’s what’s important.” The words come easily, he tells them to himself frequently. 

They cross the street and walk a bit further.

“Here it is.”

Her body shifts as she eyes the place from ground to top.

“Doesn’t look too bad.” 

“Yeah, well, ten years ago it was a shithole,” he mumbles, “roaches climbing the walls, barely functioning plumbing and all kinds of crap on the streets. The playground a few blocks over was nice though, even then.” He nods his head in the right direction.

“You didn’t like it?”

He shrugs.

“I was a kid, kids are resilient.” Kids are adaptable, the correction sneaks into his head, he raises his voice slightly. “Liz was nuts, but she fit in here, and the neighborhood took good care of the children, at least during day time.” 

His memories are hazy at best, and there’s no use dwelling on them. Later he’d come to dislike the place, just from knowing better, but it could have been a lot worse. He hasn’t thought about it much at all lately and he hasn’t been by here despite how close it is, he can’t help trying to recall if he even told Nicks about this, and hates the mere thought. Why is he down this road with Rory? What is he trying to do? 

He has an impulse to turn and walk back, but nails his feet to the sidewalk, waiting for her to make whatever move she pleases. She frowns at the building and glances at him. For a second it looks like she’s going to raise a hand to touch him, but she doesn’t, instead she smiles a little bleakly at him and turns, starts to walk back. He’s relieved and follows her eagerly.

“So, what are you doing for the holiday?” She asks.

“Philadelphia with Nicks and the guys.” 

They’re driving down tomorrow and staying the night. He’s relieved at the prospect of leaving the city, and anxious to get back, however that’s possible. 

“You?” He asks, for etiquette’s sake.

“Stars Hollow.”

They walk almost a block in silence.

“You moved around so much.” She says. “I’ve only ever lived in two places, no, three; Stars Hollow, at Yale, and… here.”

“The nomad thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. If you’re miserable, then it’s miserable everywhere.”

He’s expecting her to protest, but instead she sighs.

“It just seems like such an adventure.”

“And it was,” he admits, “just not a very nice one.”

“Were you miserable?”

He clears his throat.

“Yeah.” 

“I didn’t enjoy life on the road that much either,” she says, “I guess it didn’t feel like my kind of adventure.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m just kind of scattered, a bit lost.” A pause. “Not miserable though.”

“Good.”

They sway another few steps, before she asks. 

“How about you?”

“I’m not miserable.”

“Good.” She nods. “Although I feel like we should aim higher than ‘not miserable’.”

He chuckles, but considers it. He hasn’t been unhappy for a while, at least not like he used to be. Since about a year back he’s been at some sort of relative peace, but then he moved to New York. He hasn’t even thought about it before, he just always felt this way in the city; antsy, a bit on edge, ready for something. When he lived here earlier that was just the way it felt to be alive. 

“Probably.”

She smiles at him. He swallows. Maybe it never was all about the city.

“While we’re on places; How are you liking your room?” He asks.

“Fine.” There’s a pause. “It’s a good room.”

“Objectively.” He adds helpfully.

“I just need to decorate properly, have a tea party, or something.” She chuckles to herself. “Speaking of which, Lane’s coming to visit next week. She’ll stay for a couple of days.”

“Great.”

He hasn’t seen Lane other than in passing for years and wonders how she’ll find him this time around, as Rory’s best friends she’s always been a barometer for his graces with her.

They walk the rest of the way quietly. He holds up the door for her but has to wait for a couple of minutes while she stands on the sidewalk, looking around at the building, lifting her face to the morning sky, a silly smile on her face. She turns to him with the smile intact and his heart beats faster. She finally enters the house and they climb the stairs. His feet feel heavy and he starts hoping for some sleep. 

He unlocks the door and immediately takes off his jacket in the still warmth of the apartment. She waits for him and doesn’t move when he’s done. He raises his eyebrows at her in some attempt to say goodbye when she hesitantly puts her hand to his shoulder. He looks at it, resting against his t-shirt, and then at her face.

“You know...” She starts, voice low before it trails off completely.

He squints at her.

“What?”

She shrugs.

“Whenever I’m in New York, ever since we met I just- I think about you when I’m here, wonder where you’ve stayed, which places are yours, I- I know it’s silly, I just do.” 

He can’t bear the thought of her removing her hand.

“I suppose I’m the same way.” He mumbles.

She chuckles.

“Yeah, whenever you’re in Stars Hollow…”

“No, it’s less-” He interrupts himself, thinks that she has to feel his heartbeat. “It’s more from the inside out with me. I’ll read a book or hear a song and just- I think about Stars Hollow a lot.”

She looks away. 

“Mad and moonly, right?” He mumbles.

Her cheeks are pink, he can tell, even in the dark hallway. She shakes her head.

“Or completely sane and sunly. You would think about Stars Hollow, I mean, with Luke and everything.”

“Yeah. When I moved there it was just another stupid place, and then I met you. You’d only ever lived there, and you didn’t seem miserable.”

“I guess I wasn’t.”

“But I wasn’t talking about Luke. I was talking about you.”

Her eyes.

“Thank you. For telling me.”

“A bit too late, but still…”

“But I still got those ears.”

“Good ears.”

”Not too late.”

She lets her hand drop from his shoulder, but takes hold of his hand instead. Just like that. He squeezes it back. Just like that.

“I’m gonna say you loved it so much that you hated it a little.”

“What?”

“The book.”

He wants to kiss her, badly. He lets go of her hand, and takes a step further into the apartment, putting some distance between them to prevent himself from doing that. 

“I guess you’d be right, or maybe it was the other way around, I get a little confused on chronology of stuff like that.”

She follows him down the hallway, he hears her behind him, she yawns. They reach her door and he turns to her, smiling.

“There.”

“Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He makes an effort to keep walking, but her voice halts him.

“Hey, why couldn’t you sleep?”

He turns away before replying, he’s too tired to deceive anyone, she’ll tell he’s lying.

“Oh, just the heat too. Sleep tight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referred to poem by EE Cummings “Love is thicker than forget”


	8. Everything Is Illuminated [That’s How the Light Gets In]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rory receives a visit that shines a new light on the situation.

**July 10, 2008**

It’s late Thursday and Lane’s bus arrives. Rory’s taken the next day off to make it a weekend and is waiting on the platform, jumping lightly up and down when she sees her friend. Lane squeals in response and near jumps into her arms. Rory reaches for Lane’s bag and starts walking towards the subway station.

“So, what is it like being a free woman?” She asks.

“You should know all about it!”

“Well, I wanna hear your description of it.”

“The freedom is intoxicating!” Lane skips a bit while keeping up with her pace.

“Intoxicating, huh?”

“Yeah! Oh, and let’s get it straight; not just in a good way, ‘cause I keep getting the feeling that I’ve forgotten something, like my keys, or my twin sons.” She jumps in front of Rory and walks backwards ahead of her. “So, I’m counting on some actual intoxication later. I need to self medicate.”

“Speaking of which: I’ve prepared an itinerary-”

“No museums!”

“-tailor-made to suit your tastes-”

“Please don’t mention Taylor!”

Rory keeps talking through her laughter.

“-meaning all the sub-pop-culture stops, culty coffee-shops and record stores you can handle.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Hey, back at ya kiddo.”

“And don’t mention the kids either,” Lane moans, “it’s my first weekend on my own in two years.”

“I won’t mention it if you won’t.”

They walk side by side, silently for a few seconds.

“But you won’t believe how much they’ve grown!”

Rory doesn’t hesitate to gush, it’s the right thing to do.

“I know! Thanks for the card!”

“Yeah, and that was like two whole months ago, they’re even bigger now.”

“Incredible. They’ll be tryin’ out for football before you know it.”

“More like the marching band, and oh my god I’m so lame.”

“You’re not lame.” Rory objects.

“Twenty-four and only talking about my kids.”

Lane has a point of course. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. The two of them were supposed to live the free life in cities similar to New York, Lane was supposed to have a musical career, it was all she ever talked about. It’s more than a little spooky that your actual purpose, or path can just sneak up on you like that and knock you over the head with something completely different than what you’d imagined for yourself, that your truth, destiny can be out there, elsewhere, running wild, like some separate entity, that some otherness can know you better than you know yourself. 

“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” She mumbles.

“Apparently.”

Lorelai and her entire family has always talked about the pregnancy as a derailment of a life, several actually, she’s used to that. Maybe it scares her more that Lane, her friend, who’s dreams she knew as well as her own, can walk cheerily next to her, life derailed, and still happy, rolling with the punches, full of new purpose. Cool with the chaos of the universe.

“All my best friends are young mothers.” Rory adds, determined to shake her thoughts.

“And medical students. How is Paris?”

“Reassuringly the same.” 

Lane’s tone goes softer.

“And how’s your grandpa?”

“Better, but-”

But it’s just temporary, is on the tip of her tongue, because it’s what she’s thinking.

“Can we add it to the no fly list?” She sighs.

“You bet. I think it’s cool that this weekend will be as much for unplugging for you as it is for me.”

“Yeah.” 

She takes an easy breath, lets the summer night sink in, the feeling of ease. They make their way down the stairs to the subway. Lane pries the bag from Rory’s grip again.

“Speaking of which, how’s the living situation?”

“Good.” She answers immediately. “It’s temporary, but- It’s good.” Temporary.

“Really? All smooth sailing?” Lane pushes.

“Yeah, I was surprised too but lately…”

“Lately...?”

“Lately I’ve just remembered,” she has to force the words, “that me and Jess actually get on really well, always had, it’s just the circumstances that’s been...” She trails off.

They get tickets for Lane and Rory hooks her arm in hers to lead her through the crowd to their tracks.

“And now the circumstances are favorable?”

They really aren’t. The circumstances are chaotic, awkward, so why does she feel so good? It’s a rabbit hole she doesn’t have time to fall into, so she just nods.

“Nicks is really nice.”

“The girlfriend? And your landlord?”

“Yeah.”

Lane laughs.

“What?”

Lane starts singing.

“Wait, who's that guy? Just hangin' at your pad. He's lookin' kinda bummed, yeah, you broke up that's too bad, I guess it's fair if he always pays the rent and he doesn't get bent about sleepin' on the couch when I'm there.” Her voice echoes between the tiled walls and transitions into laughter.

“Who am I in this scenario?” Rory protests.

“Obviously the guy on the couch.”

“Bummed ex boyfriend?!”

“I’m sorry!” Lane laughs. “A certain amount of conservatism comes with the motherhood, I can’t help it!”

They get on and off the subway and make their way to the apartment, just, slowly; They get off at Brooklyn Bridge to get from there on foot but go for coffee at a record store first. Later, when they’re crossing the bridge and Rory tells her about all the places she’s planning on them visiting, then:

“And on Saturday Jess is- well, really it’s a Truncheon event- for this book some guy released- he, Jess, he invited me, I guess weeks ago, and I said I’d go and was kinda hoping you wouldn’t mind tagging along- but if you don’t want to it’s- we can make up an excuse-” She doesn’t know why she’s rambling, she doesn’t even entirely know how she feels about having Jess and Lane in the same place.

“Sounds fun, let’s do it.”

That was easy.

“If it’s awkward we can just leave.”

“Obviously.”

Rory goes quiet, can’t quite figure out why she was nervous about asking Lane to join.

“Apart from that I’ll leave decisions up to you.” She adds.

“Rad.” 

They keep walking. Lane shoves her.

“You promised Jess?”

“Stop it.”

By the time they get to the apartment Nicks, Izzy and Paula are in the common room watching some reality show, Rory introduces Lane, and Nicks gets up to shake her hand, and offer her welcomes, like a concierge Barbie. Mark, who has a few evenings off, is sitting in the other common room and greets them with contained enthusiasm and Lane giggles over Rory having her own resident Michel. They install Lane in Rory’s room, pull the mattress off the bed and make up both. Lane changes. She frowns at Rory’s empty walls.

“We’re gonna have to fix this.”

They head to the kitchen, where Rory does her best to mimic the BLT Jess made her. Lane puts on Le Tigre before they dive into their food. They’ve been on her feet all day and gotten by mainly on sugar, so the room gets silent apart from Julie Ruin and the contented grunts of two hungry girls, despite the somewhat flawed sandwiches. Lane takes a bite way too big and chews enthusiastically with her mouth open. 

Suddenly Jess appears in the doorway. He nods at Rory, and leans on the frame while looking at Lane, who has her back to him.

”Mrs Kim.”

Her eyes widen at the sound of his voice.

”Oh my god fuck you.” She says with her mouth full, crumbs flying.

“I’m sorry, is it Mrs Van Gerbig?” 

She spins around in her seat and gets up, all in one motion. She reaches him in two steps and throws her arms around him in a rough sort of hug. Jess jerks at the impact of her but returns the gesture within seconds. He looks at Rory over Lane’s shoulder, he’s surprised. She smiles at him even if her chest hurts, why does it hurt?

Lane pulls back.

“I hear you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Ouch. Guess I deserved that.”

“Oh, it’s okay, neither have I.” She says and slaps Jess’s lower arm. 

He laughs.

“You’re a parent.”

“With the bandmate I’ve had since I was sixteen.”

“And how is Zack?”

She smiles.

“Wiser. But otherwise the same.”

He nods, takes a few steps into the room leaning on the sink.

“So, what are you up to this weekend?”

“Rory gave me a speedrun through lower Manhattan today and tomorrow it’s Brooklyn’s time to shine. And I found a pamphlet for this pub that seemed cool.” 

Lane pulls out the piece of paper from her purse and hands it to him. He looks it over, smiles.

“You know it?” She asks.

He nods and gives it back. 

“Nice find.”

“You wanna come? Tomorrow night?”

Rory freezes mid-chew, meets Jess’s eyes for a second, and musters an awkward smile behind closed lips. Then he responds.

“Sure.” He looks back at Rory. “If that’s okay?”

She blushes, annoyed for some reason that he had to ask.

“‘Course.”

He turns back to Lane.

“I’ll ask Nicks too.”

“Oh great,” Lane says, obviously high on social interaction “your girlfriend, right?”

“And Mother Den to us all.”

“Excellent.”

“Later.”

Jess raises his hand to Rory who returns the gesture, and leaves the room. Lane turns and smiles at Rory. Rory gets up and takes another two bottles of beer from the fridge. 

“Come on.”

Lane picks up what’s left of their sandwiches and follows Rory into her room. Rory closes the door. They finish their meals by the small table, then Rory opens the window to the fire escape. They climb out and sit down on a blanket. Rory opens the bottles and hands one to Lane. They clink them together and drink.

“Gosh the two of you were chummy.” Rory mutters.

Lane laughs.

“That was nice, seeing him again, kinda… familiar.”

“It is good to catch up.” Rory admits.

“Yeah, but, I didn’t really see that coming.” Lane waves her finger around and puts it to her lip, tapping it. “Maybe it’s more side effects of the parent thing. You know, when Steve and Kwan were newborns Lorelai told me about this thing called cocooning which is basically what happens to parents the first years when the kids are small: you just shut the outside world out, and focus on all the small stuff, so much even that you forget any other way to be, so once you meet someone, anyone you used to know it’s literally a blast from the past, you’re overcome by the good old days. Maybe that’s it.” She takes a sip from the bottle. “But on the other hand, we’ve always been chummy.”

Rory scoffs. 

“What? I always thought he was kinda cool, even when-” Lane stops herself.

“Even when what?” Rory asks, unable to keep a certain sharpness from her voice. “Even when he left without a word?” And when he finally delivered that great parting line it was somehow worse.

It’s quiet. Rory is confused, she and Jess have been getting on great, so she’s more than a little blindsided by the irritation she’s feeling. Lane looks at her, serious in an instant.

“Sorry. You know I’d never take anyone’s side over yours, especially not in this case. I just figured, since you live together that you’d maybe gotten around to talk about that stuff.”

“I think maybe we can live together because we don’t talk about certain things.”

“That makes sense too.” 

Rory takes a few gulps from the bottle trying to swallow the ache in her throat. Why didn’t he tell me? She wants to say it, it burns a hole in her, but she can’t, it would suggest that she needs to know, like it would make a difference now, either way. Or worse, that it’s a thing that causes her so much pain that she’s forced to speculate, to thresh about it. They’re quiet for a few minutes. Lane sighs. 

“It’s so nice out here.”

“It’s the best room in the apartment. According to Jess.”

“According to Jess.” Lane echoes.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were disappointed at the lack of drama, that maybe being a mother of toddlers wasn’t stimulating enough for you.” 

She’s instantly guilty over her stupid joke, but Lane just stares at her and gestures.

“Of course I am! I’m looking to you, as always, to provide excitement. Isn’t that our established dynamic?”

Rory feels even more stupid. And suddenly alone. She wants to tell Lane about Matt, so they can trash talk him together, but if she does, she’ll have to tell her about the first night in the apartment, the roof, the couch, the vague memory of being carried, the walk the other night. She wants Lane to know, would feel so much better if she did, but can’t tell her any of that, she knows, without knowing why.

“But I don’t worry.” Lane adds. “Seems there’s plenty of drama still, just, the old kind.”

Rory chuckles. Lane puts her arm around her.

“I guess it’ll have to do.”

**July 11, 2008**

Eventually it’s the warmth that wakes her. She kicks off the blankets and gets up, opens the window right away, but the air doesn’t move, it’s as warm outside as indoors. She glances at the watch, it’s early. She falls back into bed, pulls off her tank top and lies on top of all covers staring at the ceiling. The sounds from outside move into the room and wake up Lane. She makes a few mumbling noises before distinctly whining:

“Too warm. I don’t think I can take it!”

“We’ll be fine, as long as we move slowly.”

“Like lizards.”

When they get up for breakfast they run into Nicks in the hallway.

“Me, Mark and Adam are going to get cooling units for the common rooms.”

“Great.” 

“Yeah it’s about time. I told Jess to take you guys swimming, if you wanna go?”

“Oh my god, yes!” Lane blurts.

“Thank you.” Rory adds.

Nicks winks at Lane and heads to the door.

“She is nice.” Lane mumbles, looking back over her shoulder.

“Told you.”

Jess is at the table when they enter the kitchen. He nods at them. Lane sits down and Rory heads for the coffee maker. Jess gets up and joins her by the counter, leans lightly on her then stands up straight. She looks at him.

“So what’s the plan for today?” He asks.

“Williamsburg. All the coffee shops and record stores she can handle.” She gestures at Lane.

“That won’t be a lot in this heat.”

“You’re going swimming?” Lane asks eagerly.

“Me and Izzy.” He turns to her. “There’s a public pool. It might make the day bearable. We can meet up there later if you want to.”

He writes down the address and hands Rory the note before slipping out of the room. They have breakfast and head out. Lane makes a turn for the subway but Rory stops her.

“It’s better to walk. The subway is a hell dimension in this heat.”

They’ve only passed a block when Lane starts complaining about the heat.

“How is it worse here than in Stars Hollow?”

“I believe it has something to do with A Lovin’ Spoonful.”

“Musical spell, shoulda guessed.” Lane shakes her head.

They walk, slowly. It takes forever, and once they make their first stop they have energy for little else than ice lattes and window shopping. They take the ferry back to Red Hook after just about an hour. They stand on deck and Rory picks up the phone, calling Jess and arranging the meet up. They head for the public pool.

Unfortunately, they’re far from alone. The place is already packed when they get there. 

“It’s a weekday! Don’t these people have jobs?” Lane whines.

“Heat like this is practically a national emergency.” Izzy says. “I’ve been saving up overtime for days like this, you gotta come prepared for the summer in the city.” 

She stops Lane from leaving her stuff in the changing room.

“You’ll never find it again.”

Every sun chair is occupied, they pile their clothes on a free corner of grass by the pool, and change behind their towels.

“Yowza!”

It’s Lane’s voice. Izzy starts laughing. Rory turns to see Jess, in his trunks a few feet over. He freezes for a second before smiling awkwardly.

“This heat is severely impeding my impulse control.” Lane squeaks.

“Like you had any to begin with.” Rory mutters between clenched teeth, more annoyed than she would like to be.

Izzy’s laughter intensifies and Jess’s smile changes its character to obnoxious confidence. It doesn’t seem like him, it’s clearly a taken behavior, but Rory really likes it, it’s a form of kindness under the circumstances. Their eyes meet and he shrugs, she shakes her head to hide her smile. He leads the way to the pool. 

There’s reasonable space in the middle of the water, space to swim or toss a ball, but the edges of the pool are cluttered by people, hanging on, talking, jumping in despite signs telling them not to. Jess simply squats and gets in where he arrives, people part way for him, but seem to ignore the girls, maybe sensing their hesitation. Jess disappears under the surface and reappears a second later reaching a hand over the edge, speaking loudly.

“Come on!”

The people closest to him reluctantly make space. Lane is first to take his hand and get in.

“Miss Lane.”

She swims off. Izzy ignores his hand and dives into the gap, splashing water on everyone close.

“Miss Izzy.” Jess says, wiping his face.

He opens his eyes to her and extends his hand to her too. She takes it, sits down on the edge and tips herself in, holding her breath to dip herself in one motion. When she emerges she looks for Lane and Izzy but they’re nowhere in sight. Her hand is still in his and she loosens herself with an apologetic smile. He doesn’t make an attempt to move, just holds on to the edge and looks out across the pool while treading water. She lets a little laugh and he looks at her.

“Quite the gentleman these days.”

He grimaces.

“The ratio of women to men in the apartment had me mending my ways.”

She smiles crookedly.

“What?” He says. “People actually like it.”

“And you care what people like.” She teases.

“I care what people I like like. And you’re one to talk.”

She smiles.

“Oh, I’m not complaining, I like it.”

“Good.”

She treads water too, listens to the shatter and splashing around the pool, sneaking glances of the reflected light climbing his arms. 

“Have you read-” she starts, and he snorts with laughter, “-How to breathe underwater?

He shakes his head.

“No. I did pick up Swimming with giants.” 

He sticks his finger in her tummy and she sways away from his touch, frowning.

“I’m really annoyed we haven’t read the same things.”

“What are we gonna do about it?”

“I seem to recall a book club.”

He laughs again, she really needs to stop reacting so strongly to that, but not today.

“You said you wouldn’t mind advanced studies.”

He shakes his head.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

He pushes off the edge and kicks water in her face as he swims out toward the middle of the pool.

“Put together a list of suggestions. I’ll think of some too.” He shouts.

She smiles widely and swims after him.

They play for a while as well as they can under the crowded circumstances, later they sit in the sparse shade of a tree for a while, Izzy and Jess smoking, Lane in a heated discussion with a guy with a boombox and a taste for hip-hop. Rory listens and laughs a little. 

She has her sunglasses on, relieved to hide behind them, because she keeps looking at Jess. Behind her shades she can relax a bit, allow herself to look, when no one can tell she is. No harm in looking, she tells herself and automatically contemplates how much harm looking has caused, like historically. Not that it helps. 

He’s a few feet over, leaning his back on the fence next to Izzy, the two of them chatting lowly. She follows the shape of him, realizing that she’s never seen him bare legged before today, then hurries her eyes up his torso before her mind has a chance to catch up with her. He leans his arms on his knees, that first night in the apartment she tried very hard not to look but not now, the muscles in his back, arms, his skin, neck and the still wet hair sticking to it. When she reaches his face, she finds his gaze is locked to her - between wet lashes, obscured, but sure, there. Shoot. She swallows. He takes a drag on his cigarette and looks at her, kind of absent-mindedly, Izzy having joined Lane’s discussion with the boombox-guy. 

Rory blinks, and the only thing she can think to do is to remove her glasses. His eyes widen slightly when he realizes she’s looking back at him, and he straightens a bit where he sits, putting his cigarette out and then turning back to her with a smile, gesturing at the conversation. Rory smiles back, but feels like she can’t hide a thing. She needs another go in the pool.

After that Rory convinces Lane to give Brooklyn another try, and they leave. 

It’s late afternoon when they make it back to the apartment, dragging several bags with books, records and posters along. They stop and get takeaway at a burger joint a couple of blocks from the apartment. They grab beers from the kitchen and head to Rory’s room to eat, drink and decorate the walls. Lane pins up a Smashing Pumpkins poster which does look nice, even if it’s not Rory’s favorite band. She managed to score a promotional poster of OK Computer with the track listing and pins it next to her CD-player. She also splurged and bought a smaller collage at an independent bookstore featuring Mark Twain’s head on Marcus Schenkenbergs body, that gets to sit above her bed. Lane nails a number of postcards - Vincent van Gogh, Simone de Beauvoir and Audrey Hepburn - above her bureau. They finish their beers back to back in the middle of the room, spinning slowly, looking at their accomplishments.

“Why haven’t you done this sooner? Not that I’ve lived in that many places, but once I had the power to do my own decorating I just can’t imagine living without it.”

“I get it.” Rory says. “I don’t know, I guess I haven’t really felt at home.”

“Maybe you haven’t felt at home ‘cause you haven’t made it homely.”

It’s more complicated than that, but she can’t wrap her head around it, so:

“Possibly.”

Nicks knocks on the door a while later and they get ready to go out. Lane gets extremely dolled up while singing “baby, don't you know it's a pity, the days can't be like the nights, in the summer, in the city, in the summer, in the city” repeatedly until Rory is sucked into harmonizing the piano break horribly out of key and they have to drown themselves out with some Ramones. When Lane is done her outfit exceeds the others by a pretty massive margin. 

The place she’s picked is really cool, and matches her to a tee, cords of twinkle lights cover the walls and bar, making the entire room glow. Electroclash and Riot Grrrl blare from the sound system and they lean over the small table to make themselves heard.

“I feel like your ballerina skirt is sort of wasted here.” Jess says. “Maybe we should take you elsewhere so you can shine a bit.”

“I got all the shine I need here.” Lane yells.

“And she’s a married woman.” Rory adds.

“Are you worried going out without your husband?” Nicks asks.

“Oh, please, I have the best defense against the pick-up arts spell; Mother of twins. A ballerina skirt has no power over that.”

“Even one with glitter?”

“Even that!”

This leads to a long conversation on Lane’s family life. Nicks enters interview mode and seems utterly fascinated by Lane. Hardly surprising, Lane’s story is actually compelling, and the polar opposite of what Rory’s caught about Nicks’s own life. She wants to know about Hep Alien, Mrs Kim, Zack and the kids, and even Stars Hollow.

“I’m still having trouble believing you lived in a place like that.” Nicks tells Jess after a particularly strange-but-accurate description of a town meeting.

“Not by choice.” He mumbles.

“But Stars Hollow needs a guy like Jess.” Lane interjects.

“Every town needs a scapegoat.” Jess explains to Nicks, matter-of-factly.

“Oh boo-hoo!” Lane slaps his arm. “You spend so much butting heads with people you’re as good as an actually guilty goat.”

“A trouble-maker?” Nicks smiles.

Jess turns his head to her, eyebrows raised.

“Obviously.”

Lane takes another big gulp from her beer.

“But, as I said, a needed one.”

Nicks leans across the table to get closer to Lane.

“How so?”

“There’s a certain kind of tension in Stars Hollow that only the Danes boys can let.” Lane answers without missing a beat.

“The Danes boys?”

“Jess, and his uncle Luke.”

“Give me a break.” Jess interrupts.

“Luke’s the one who needs a break occasionally.” Lane mutters.

“Are you seriously trying to get me to move back to Stars Hollow?” Jess shakes his head. “Get real.” 

“Just visit for longer than a day once in a while, it’s good for the town, and probably for you too.” Lane leans back a bit like she’s done, but then: “Plus, you’re kinda one of ours.”

“Am not.”

Lane ignores him, and talks to Nicks instead.

“His mother grew up there, Luke is like an institution there, and his grandfather William lived there all his life.”

Jess gestures helplessly at Rory, so she decides to help out.

“Speaking of being meant for a place-” She points to Lane. “This one and The Big Apple.”

“Stop calling it that.” Jess smiles.

Rory turns to Nicks.

“But you should’ve seen her earlier, like she was born for it. Arguing with that guy by the pool-”

“What? He had the audacity to claim N.E.R.D isn’t hip-hop!”

“And had it come down to fisticuffs I’m sure you would’ve won.” Rory says.

“Whatever!” Lane laughs. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“I’ll join you.” Nicks says.

They disappear. Bloc Party plays at a deafening volume. It’s nice, that and the beer settles a calm over Rory and Jess, they even manage to just look at each other for a few moments without it getting weird. 

“So, what do you think?” She shouts.

“What?” 

She can’t hear the word as much as see it. She leans in. 

“You about ready to move back to Stars Hollow?”

He laughs, shakes his head.

“It’s kinda hard hating the place though. You?”

Damn him and his valid questions.

“Wow, I don’t know. Not for a while, but I guess, some part of me can’t be without it.”

He shrugs.

“If Lane lives there, how bad can it be?”

“Yeah, she just went and skipped that whole get-outta-this-town thing that her favorite rock stars seem so fond of.”

“Probably better off for it.”

“Weird though.” Rory says. “I always thought she was the one of us who needed it the most.”

“Strange world we live in.”

“People are strange.”

His face is all close, his mouth opens and he takes a breath, pausing while the words form inside him, he smiles a little while speaking.

“I think- that Luke stayed there out of habit, just being stubborn, but I don’t think he was happy until he got with Lorelai.”

It’s a big admission for him. She smiles, agrees.

“You do need good company.”

They’re interrupted by Lane asking what drinks they want. Nicks and Jess leave a while later, to meet up with some friends of Nicks. Rory and Lane stay for another drink and head home, walking arm in arm.

“I’m gooey from all the attention. You think that’s how she landed Jess?”

“I haven’t asked…” Rory mutters, before turning her tone to chipper. “But, isn’t that how you land any guy? Saying ooh and aah?”

“It’s certainly not true about Zack, not anymore, and I can’t speak from experience, but I don’t think that’s Jess either.” She pauses. “I guess not all guys are wired the same way.”

“Who knew?”

**July 12, 2008**

Saturday morning is slow. Some flatmates are spread throughout the apartment and some are off for work or pleasure. Jess is away helping the writer in question prepare the evening’s party. Rory and Lane have brunch at the diner a block away and sit around for hours, before walking slowly through the park.

They get ready to go to the party a few hours later.

“What did you say this place was called?” Rory asks Nicks after having changed for a third time.

“The Hole.” Nicks responds, sticking her head through the door, and laughing at the sight of Rory. “You’re way over-dressed.” 

She disappears and Rory sighs.

“Here, I’ll help.” Lane roots around Rory’s dresser for a minute before pulling out a mini skirt, pantyhose and a t-shirt with the phrase Reading is Sexy.

“You’re kidding me.”

“You have got to start acting your age!” Lane unzips Rory’s black dress. “You’re twenty-three, not thirty-three.” She gets back to doing her nails.

Rory changes and stands in front of the mirror.

“You look great.” Lane says. 

Nicks walks into the room, wearing a drapey, black skirt and a batiked shirt. She eyes Rory. 

“That’s better.” 

Rory looks at herself. She looks cute, she’ll admit, young. And she feels like she’s playing dress up. But she looks at Lane, who’s in a similar outfit, but punkier, and at Nicks, who’s in the hippie version of the same get up, then back at herself. I’m twenty-three, she says, not a care in the world. 

The Hole ends up being a bar room stored in a cellar by the Navy Yard. There’s no pretence of anything fancy, more like the other way around. Sure, there are candles lit and cozy lighting, but it still smells like yesterday’s spilled beer and cigarettes, hinting that whatever management is in charge, they might not be all that into upholding the ban. The walls are plastered with posters for the club inhabiting the place later that night, something called The Brit Pit, and the fresh ones advertising the release of “Jesus, Mary and Josef goes roadtripping!” in big, squared, red marker, along with the cover; a rough collage that looks like a dadaistic version of a National Lampoon movie. 

Jess meets them by the bar. He’s in black pants, a blazer over a T-shirt with a The Distillers print. She halts at the sight of it, staring.

“My eyes are up here.” Jess says with a smile.

“I- Is that-?”

“Yeah.” He answers. “I’ve been careful with it.” There’s a pause. ”I like yours too.” 

She remembers what she’s wearing and for a split second she’d rather be topless.

They get beers and take the short tour around the room with Jess. There’s already about twenty people present. The writer is a tiny, soft spoken guy named Ian, and Rory instantly worries about him, about his career, his ability to attract enough friends to his own release party and his sense of self. She stops however, when he gets the mic, about an hour into the gathering - by then a significant amount of people have arrived and are increasingly noisy, Rory assumes that the club already has started letting other people in - and the roar of applause that rips through the place when Ian gets on the low stage convinces her otherwise. Sure, he’s still soft spoken, but hysterical. Two minutes into his speech he has the room in stitches. She buys two books, thinking she’ll give one to Lorelai, and Ian signs them both. She and Lane wind up by the bar talking about school experiences with a few of Ian’s friends, almost getting dragged into a full blown shot race, but settling for just one each and another beer instead. 

Jess walks around the room chatting with people. He seems so good at it, what he does, and even if she always felt, knew he could do something like that it is sort of strange to witness, she’s nervous from it, exalted. Nicks spends most of the party in a corner, talking to a couple of hippie looking people she seems to know from before, but from time to time she’ll walk by Jess and peck his cheek or exchange a few words with whoever is talking to him.

The burned CD that’s been on repeat consists of an absurd mix of Canned Heat, The Dubliners, Dropkick Murphys and several choir tracks, but it’s silenced all at once and replaced by London Calling as the official club opens and the DJ announces his presence. Most people from the party remain, and the new crowd is added to them. Within about a half hour the place is packed. There are people everywhere, and many of them flagrantly smoking, it’s almost amusing, and either way, Rory’s had one too many beers to care at this point.

Ian must have picked the place partly for the club because he’s the first one pogo dancing and barely stops for water. It’s inspiring actually, and Rory and Lane join him as the dancefloor fills up. The club name is apparently in reference to the music’s country of origin and it works exceedingly well with Lane, who bops around and yells “yeah” at the start of almost every track. Soon they’re sweating, but she’s unwilling to take a break and has Rory get them bottled beer so they can keep dancing. 

A song by Siouxsie and the Banshees has Lane wild with joy and her enthusiasm is shared and contagious, everyone’s dancing, as well as possible at least in the cramped space. After two minutes the song segues into a slow number by Pulp and there are scattered booing around the room and a good few people leave the dancefloor. Rory makes a move for the bar but Lane holds her put.

“Trust me!” She yells and entangles herself with Rory.

Nicks and Jess, who has freed himself of his blazer, awkwardly sway together a few feet away. Rory meets his eye over Lane’s shoulder and laughs at the whole situation, he smiles back and rolls his eyes, taking a few stiff and staged dance steps with Nicks, who indulges him for a few beats before pirouetting out of his grasp. She bends over laughing before heading to the bathroom. Jess remains alone on the floor, shrugging, eyes on Rory. He picks up his pack of cigarettes lighting one where he stands. She shakes her head and Lane hugs her tighter, exaggeratedly swaying. 

The song suddenly erupts in a blustery crescendo along with the hoot of the crowd. Lane lets go of her and starts pogoing, Rory joins her, it’s the only move available since people flood back onto the dance floor. Jump like nobody’s watching. She laughs, drunk and sweaty, and completely incapable of doing anything about it, and her best friend is bouncing ecstatically an arm’s length away. 

The air is pushed out of her in sudden pressure from a group of guys taking the floor with force, she loses her balance and tumbles to the floor. She looks up at the faces, and tries to apologize while getting off the sticky floor, but it’s crowded and she’s surrounded by bodies, when she puts her hand to the ground to push herself up someone steps on it. She swears, but can’t even hear it herself. And then Jess is there, reaching an arm down and pulling her up. The crowd is like a stormy sea and they’re pushed into each other, barely enough floor space for them to stand.

“You okay?” He yells into her ear.

“Yeah!” She nods. “But Lane!”

He stretches to look over the dancefloor and starts laughing. She turns to see and Lane is elevated off the floor on the shoulders of an enormous man in a The Cure T-shirt. She’s screaming along with the lyrics and waves her fists around. Rory laughs and looks back at Jess, only to get knocked into him by someone pushing past. Her forehead hits his face. She pulls back and sees him mouthing a profanity, covering his mouth with one arm and using the other to grab her and spinning them both into the nearest wall. 

She winds up with her back to it and he with his to the room, his hands firmly planted on the wall behind her. He grimaces and his body rocks from the impacts of others while he’s holding their weight at bay. His lower lip is red from her head and she instinctively puts a hand to her forehead and the other to his lip. 

As soon as she touches him she’s sober, or maybe just drunk on something else. The music blurs into a roar. He stops grimacing and looks at her instead, kind of wide eyed. She lets her fingers stay where they are, she purses her lips, and squints at his mouth, like she’s examining it, all the while her head is on fire. You know what you’re doing. The words are on incomprehensible repeat and ringing in her ears. The Distillers. Oh god. That’s why this is so familiar. He stood like this then too, shielded her from the mosh pit at the front. And she felt like an idiot, spending hours at the ice rink jealous of Lindsey who got to feel so safe with Dean, just to have Jess show up with the better alternative. Standing in the crowded, noisy darkness, thinking how safe with Dean meant freezing her butt off while he was playing hockey, and how this was better, that she would pay the price of not knowing everything if she could get this, this quiet understanding, togetherness, the kind that wasn’t a compromise for any of them. So she’d pulled him off to the side and kissed him and forgotten about that stupid, lonely day.

He leans one shoulder on the wall to free one of his hands, closing whatever distance is left between them, she stops breathing. His hand closes around the one she has at his mouth, and he moves it down to her side, shaking his head slightly. The embarrassment is physically painful, it feels like her heart is trying to exit through her tummy, but then- He doesn’t move further, doesn’t make an effort to leave, or let go of her hand. He just stands there, getting pushed onto her with every move from the crowd, and it’s good. There’s nervous laughter rumbling in her chest and it gets out through a twitch in her mouth, he stays serious, close. 

She looks at him and wonders why she’s so scared, especially now, when he’s protecting her. She can’t think of an answer but another one finds her then and there; Why did it hurt to see Lane hug him, back in the apartment two nights ago? Jealousy. She wants to put her arms around him, turn it into a proper hug, and Lane can do that, gets to do that, without everything falling apart. 

She’s hypnotized, stuck in their moment, locked in by their eye contact, by his body pressed to hers, hazy, from the alcohol, she tells herself. His eyes flick to her mouth, and the song gives way to another by The Damned. His body stops rocking, as people switch places on the dancefloor. He blinks, chest rising in a sigh and he widens the space between them. No.

“Oh my god that was awesome!” 

Lane tumbles into the wall next to them, a mess of tangled hair, running makeup and sweaty clothes. She smiles and pants, her entire being seems to vibrate with the music, and then she’s still and silent and her eyes widen, as her gaze darts between Rory and Jess. 

“You guys okay?”

“Yeah, I just- I fell, and Jess picked me up and someone pushed me into him so-” Rory halts when Lane smiles at her, like that wasn’t what she’s asked. “Is it bad?”

“Depends on what you mean by that.”

Jess takes a distinct step away from her. No.

“I-” He starts, but interrupts himself. “Anyone want something to drink?”

She wants to look at him, but doesn’t dare.

“A shot.” Lane goes. “Something disgustingly sweet.” 

“Noted. Rory?”

“I’m good.”

He disappears to the bar and Lane pulls Rory out onto the dancefloor again, into a New Order song without comment. After the dance they find Jess and Nicks at a small table. He sees them coming and pushes two glasses towards them, one with water and one shot, a clear liquid. Nicks is looking out over the dancefloor, and has her arms around Jess, a leg over his under the table. Rory’s eyes get stuck at one of her hands, her fingers moving under the neck of his t-shirt. Her head spins. The noise of the place makes it so she doesn’t register the silence until she notices Lane looking at her. When she meets her gaze Lane raises her eyebrows slightly, and Rory determinedly nails her eyes to her friend.

“The genres are all over the place.” Lane half shouts at Rory. “I talked to the DJ, totally chaotic Anglophile, you should’ve seen his face when I told him The Easybeats are australian! There were almost tears!” 

Rory laughs but has trouble ridding herself of the spinning. She picks up the glass of water and downs half of it in two gulps. Lane takes her shot.

“Fuck, Jess!” She swears.

“You’re the one who insisted on disgusting.” He smirks.

Nicks whispers something in his ear. He nods.

“Well,” Nicks says. “You’re gonna have to make the DJ cry all on your own from now on. We’re leaving.”

“Deserters.” Lane mutters.

“You’re a one woman army.” Jess tells her, which makes her smile.

He and Nicks get up. Nicks waves at them and heads for the door. Jess leans closer to Rory.

“How’s your head?” He asks.

“Dizzy.” She replies.

He frowns, he’s worried.

“Not from before though.” She adds, but finds it doesn’t make it better, she forces a smile. “I’m a little drunk.”

He smiles.

“Me too.”

He should stay. 

“How’s your lip?”

There’s a pause. He opens his mouth and closes it again before speaking.

“Have a good time. See you at home.”

She bites her lip.

“Yeah, see you at home.”

He leaves. She sighs, and finds Lane staring at her once more, sly smile on her lips.

“What?”

“Oh, you know what.”

Rory’s about to push for more when an amped up version of All Day and All of the Night starts playing and they wind up dancing instead. The Kinks turn into Suede and Suede into James before turning into Motörhead. They use the pause for bathroom breaks, but once back out on the dancefloor, the DJ has apparently fallen into the grasp of speedfreaks and doesn’t recover, after the second Black Sabbath song Lane actually yawns.

“Really?” Rory asks.

“Yup. You better get me outta here, I’ve developed the capacity to fall asleep anywhere since the twins.”

They head out. The night’s warm, but there’s something, a shiver in the air. The sky is yellow from the lights reflecting on the clouds. Rory looks around when Lane makes a sound. She looks at her, and she’s looking all dazed, smiling. Rory sees herself in it and puts an arm around her.

“You’re adorable.”

“And you’re a world-weary New Yorker.”

“Am not.” Rory protests. “Just last week I was walking around just like you. Jess thought I was nuts.”

“You’re in love with him.” Lane’s words are calm, matter-of-factly, just a bit blurred around the edges. 

Rory stiffens.

“I’m not.”

“Oh okay.” Lane laughs. “Hey, did you get around to reading Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them?”

“Lane!”

“You know I’m not Paris, I don’t do the sledge hammer thing, I just know a lot of poetry, all these lyrics, and it’s just like what David Byrne is saying about not being able to compare love to not love-”

“Lane-”

“You’re so in love you can’t see it.” 

“You’re projecting.”

”You’re projecting me projecting. You can’t see America for Times Square! All those blinking lights.” Lane sways a little.

“You okay?”

“I’m drunk.” Lane yawns again. “Doesn’t mean I’m blind. I think I have plenty of evidence, you two pining away for each other, by the pool, at the pub, at the club just an hour ago.”

Rory decides to go for a different tactic. 

“So what if I like him?” She smiles and keeps walking. “It’s hardly serious, it’s just for some amusement, it’s probably just ‘cause somebody else has him.”

“You’re better than that.”

It hits a nerve, hard. She stops, turns, raises her voice.

“I am not, stop trying to make me!” She takes a breath. “It wouldn’t be the first time either.”

She keeps walking, picks up the pace. Lane hurries after, has to almost run to catch up with her. She reaches to grab her jacket.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

Rory stops and turns. Lane catches up, a bit out of breath, still speaks.

“I’m your best friend. If you can’t talk about all that embarrassing, less than perfect stuff with me, who are you gonna talk to?”

Rory stands still, feeling raw, wanting to tell her everything, stuff she hasn’t even told herself.

“I just-” Lane goes on. “I get that you’re embarrassed about Dean, but- he was just a boy that you happened to get together with.”

“What are you talking about?” Rory stomps in frustration.

“You told me about Yale, remember? Jess showing up. What he said.”’

“So?” 

“So, you don’t just say something like that and walk away from it, words like that, they change the fabric of reality.”

Rory tries to laugh but can’t. Lane is drunk, and overly dramatic. But she’s also right. Painfully accurate. Rory can’t make sense of it, of how she knows it, she just does, and suddenly she’s speaking again, without really wanting to. 

“Okay! Fine! Words matter. So maybe you can understand why I don’t wanna use any! It’s the talking about it, period, it won’t do any good, it might even do harm.” 

“So you admit-” Lane smiles, like they’re out of the woods, but Rory interrupts her.

“No! I don’t! ‘Cause once you say certain things it’s impossible to take ‘em back, to take it back, and I’ve already done the homewrecking thing once, and that was once too many!”

Lane frowns, raises her finger.

“First off it’s so not the same, and secondly I’m not talking about doing anything, just about venting to someone you can vent to-”

“Talking is doing. It’s never just talking!” Lorelai calling Christopher before Max, before Luke. “And it’s easy for you to push this because it has zero effect on your life, and I’m sorry, but I can’t do this just for your entertainment! Me and Jess-” Rory’s voice trembles too hard, she pauses for breath, while Lane is silent and looks at her. ”We barely made it out the last time, and we never even called it-” She takes another sharp breath. “-what it was. If I say it, it is.”

There’s silence, then:

“Well, I guess that answers why he’d leave without a word.” Lane mumbles, almost to herself.

Rory sighs.

“You don’t get it.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t get why it’d be difficult dating someone your mother didn’t approve of.”

Rory Gilmore went to Chilton. Rory Gilmore went to Yale. Rory Gilmore is an idiot.

“Lane-” She starts, but is interrupted.

“But you’re right. It’s not the same. My mom was a stranger to me for so long, there was nothing in my real life she approved of. I was used to it, keeping things seperate. You, on the other hand…”

Rory has to sit down, and she does, on the curb, leaning her forehead in her hands.

“You got some weird ideas of what’s amusing these days.” Lane says.

Rory can’t help a desperate chuckle. Lane sits down next to her, and leans her head on her shoulder. They’re quiet for a minute.

“I’m gonna have to move, aren’t I?” Rory whispers.

“Or forget about this pretty quickly.” 

Rory sighs shakily. Lane puts her arm around her shoulders and squeezes.

“Just for the record, you didn’t actually say anything, nothing that’d hold up in court.”

Rory takes Lane’s hand. 

“You in charge of my defense?”

“Always.” Lane says. “Their case is fuzzy and circumstantial.”

They get up and walk home. There’s thunder rumbling, when it’s distant it can be hard to differ from all the other ruckus of the city, but now you can’t miss it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from Bohemian Like You by The Dandy Warhols. And wardrobe choices for Rory and Jess from this post ->  
> https://literatigifs.tumblr.com/post/180626712772/this-rory-with-this-jess


	9. A [Cross-making] Work of Staggering Genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jess offers to help against his better judgement.

**July 18, 2008**

He can’t not look at her, that’s how it is, if she’s in his line of sight, he’s looking. She’s at the other end of the common room, curled up on the couch with her laptop. He absently presses a finger to his lip, it’s stopped hurting.

Since Lane left she’s been brief with him. He doesn’t wonder why, what’s the point? It’s probably better this way anyhow. They’ve spent a few nights in the common room with the others, watching movies, or each in their own corner, that way of hanging out together that mainly just means sharing space. He gets by on it, won’t ask for more if he can keep that. Paula and Nicks are playing cards. He’s reading. Rory’s squinting at her screen. She sighs deeply, hits the same key repeatedly and types again.

He doesn’t ask. But it is their week on household duty. Nicks and Paula are one team, Mark and Izzy another, and he and Jake was one; Now it’s him and Rory, and the dishes have been piling up since yesterday. When he sees her in the kitchen later he sort of has to help to keep his conscience clear.

“You don’t have to.” She says when he joins her.

“Yeah I do,” he responds.

She doesn’t look at him, but hands him a towel. He starts wiping off the plates, putting them into the cabinet. Okay, so maybe he wonders a little why. But he shouldn’t ask. He goes for something different instead.

”What’s going on?”

She looks up, smiles tightly.

“With you beating up your keyboard earlier?” He clarifies, a little embarrassed.

Her expression softens.

”Oh that.” She sighs. “My car’s in the shop, it was gonna be done today but the guy said it needs to stay the weekend, and I was gonna drive up to see my grandpa so now I have to take the bus and the timetables are just disastrous or they won’t load-”

”I could drive you.”

What the hell? She stares at him. His head tries to keep up.

”I should visit Doula, Luke.”

She chuckles.

”You should?”

”Been neglecting my duties.”

She shakes her head.

“You’ll be neglecting your duties around here too.” She gestures at the dishes.

“Look who’s talking.”

She goes a little pink.

“I was gonna do it when I got back.” She chuckles. ”And you weren’t planning-”

”You presented an opportunity.” It works, technically, Nicks is busy with her writing, he’s free to do whatever, of course this would be it, even if it shouldn’t be. “When do you need to leave?”

She hesitates for a second, and part of him is relieved, but then:

“Tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Gravity.

“Thank you.”

They finish up, she goes to pack some stuff, and he picks up his phone. He calls Liz first, not out of consideration, but to get out of calling Luke himself. He downplays offering the ride to Rory, just tells Liz it made sense they drive together.

“You’re such a good guy, I don’t know where you get it.” She gushes.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You staying with us?”

“No, at the diner.” He doesn’t offer an explanation. “Tell Luke for me?”

**July 19, 2008**

The city is still scorched. The thunder storm from Lane’s visit didn’t do anything but evaporate straight away. If there was a way buildings could wilt, he’s sure they would. Rory’s waiting on the sidewalk outside their building with an overnight bag when he pulls up in the car, and she gapes when recognizing it, paint job and all. He stops by the sidewalk, leans over and pushes the door open.

“Oh my god! Is that the same car?”

“Yup.”

She gets in, tosses her bag in the back and looks around, takes a breath, smelling the space. He laughs silently at it.

“How is that even possible? Last time I saw it-” She falls silent and he knows why.

“Uhm, the guys, we pooled our money to fix it up, we needed a car, in the beginning.”

She fastens her seatbelt. He steps on the gas and heads towards the 478. It’s quiet. He glances at her. She’s in a white shirt and a denim skirt that ends right above her knees. He leans over and opens the glove compartment taking care not to touch her. 

“Pick whatever music you want.”

She picks a tape with Pearl Jam, one of their endless live bootlegs. She pushes it in, chuckles at Eddie Vedder talking between tracks, then sings along, softly, slightly out of key. What the hell is he doing? They’ve just gotten on the 95 when she speaks again.

“So… How do you suppose this will work?” She asks.

“What?”

“It’s the first time we’re in Stars Hollow since...”

Her voice trails off, he glances at her not sure if she’s counting the years or if she’s too aware of when they last inhabited that particular space together. She looks up and he knows which it is. 

“I mean, are you gonna sleep on our couch?” She asks, smiling.

“I don’t know, depends on what Luke’s in the mood for.”

“Well, how have you slept when you visited before? At Liz’s?”

He laughs without knowing why.

“No way. I’ve stayed at the diner, a couple of times on Lorelai’s couch.”

“What about my room?” Her voice is quiet.

He clears his throat.

“You honestly think Lorelai would let me sleep in your room?”

“She doesn’t?” She raises her eyebrows.

“She always has some excuse.”

Rory snorts, shakes her head.

“She is a nutjob.”

“She’s okay.”

Rory turns her head at him and squints.

“Did I just catch you good-mouthing my mom?”

“We’ve been getting along better.”

She snorts.

“Meaning you’ve stopped actively trying to piss her off.”

“Sure.” He admits. “But I think maybe she’s been trying not to get pissed off too. It’s a delicate balance, a two-way serpentine road-”

She laughs.

“You’re full of it.” There’s a pause. “But, I am happy you’re getting on better. It’s probably ‘cause I’m-”

He interrupts.

“We’ve known each other for a while now, she’s just gotten used to me.”

She looks at him, a bit of wonderment in her expression.

“Thanks again for doing this, it’s so nice of you.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop calling you nice or thanking you?”

“Both.”

She doesn’t ask why, and stays quiet. It gets unnerving pretty quick.

“Hey, have you read Nation?” He asks.

“Pratchett?” She laughs. “You read Pratchett?”

“I read everything.”

There’s a pause. He sees her looking at him in the corner of his eye. 

“It’s a great book, all categories, you should read it.”

“I will.” Another pause, like she has a foot out the conversation, but then: “Why did you think of it?”

“I don’t know, I guess I came to think about his ideas about magic.”

She gives out a surprised laugh, eyes gleaming.

“I can’t believe I didn’t catch that as an angle for you.”

“And here I thought you knew me.”

“Jess Mariano - the nerd.” She smiles. “You should get those Urkel glasses, but you’d probably just look good in them and then where would we be?”

They look at each other, smiling. She clears her throat.

“You were saying something about magic?”

“Right. That’s his idea about it anyway, the amount of schooling and practise you need to use magic is so immense that you might as well just do what you wanted it for the regular way. And then there’s wild magic, chaotic and sentient, that you can’t control anyway.”

“Fun.”

“That’s the Pratchett appeal.”

“I always preferred Douglas Adams.” She says.

“Really?”

“I liked his characters better.”

He nods, tries to stay quiet, can’t.

“Speaking of which, d’you get around to making that list?”

She smiles.

“For our book club?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s harder than I thought.” She admits. “Everytime I think of one I can’t help imagining what you’ll have to say about it,” she chuckles, and her voice changes, goes theatrical, “and I think it’s really rude of you living in my head like that, paying no rent, making a mess, sharing your opinions even when I’m not asking.”

He laughs, but doesn’t really think it’s funny, just, the way it is, that’s what it’s like for him with her, and not just when books are involved. 

“Well,” he starts, “maybe we could take advantage of it.”

“How?”

“We could pick out books for each other.”

“I pick a book for you-?”

“A book you think I would’ve picked, and the other way around.”

“And then we switch.”

“Yeah.”

She smiles and nods slowly. She leans back in her seat, props her legs, her bare feet up against the dashboard and looks out the window. He can’t not look. She catches it.

“Is this okay?” She asks.

A thing gets its worth from how it’s used, how it’s loved, not how tidy it is or how good it looks; A pretty girl being comfortable in his car adds to its worth, so apart from him wanting to pull over and pull her into the backseat, and that unfortunately being out of the question, it’s completely okay. He nods, clears his throat and nails his eyes to the road.

“So, what’s the plan for your visit?”

“See my mom, have some sort of binge-movie-night, tomorrow I’ll go to Hartford and see my grandpa.” She answers.

“What time will you be back? I mean, when should we go back to New York?”

“I don’t know.”

“I could pick you up in Hartford.” He offers.

He can tell she actively considers it, chewing on her lower lip. 

“Okay. Yes please. You remember-?”

“I know where.”

They stop for coffee and lunch, and reach Stars Hollow about an hour later. He parks by Lorelai’s house. She picks up her overnight bag and gets out of the car.

“Do you wanna-?” She starts.

“Probably best if I don’t. I’ll go straight to Liz’s.

She nods and slams the door. He waits until she’s reached the porch and is greeted by Lorelai. They hug and Lorelai raises a hand in his direction, he returns the gesture and drives off.

Liz’s house is worse every year. When they bought it, it was fairly normal, like someone who had their life together might live there. Since then it’s become sentient, inviting and radiating chaos. Liz’s places always had that air about them. Lorelai’s house has a similar vibe actually, but where Liz gathers chaos, Lorelai gathers folly. He’s been wishing for a while his mother could take a couple of cues from her sister in quasi-law. 

The lawn is unmowed, and the garden shed surrounded by the failed or discarded projects of the house’s inhabitants, color is chapped across the facade and vegetation protrudes through the wood of the porch. Luke does what he can but has learned by now that some things have to be allowed to fall apart in order to prove their points. Jess also suspects his uncle takes more than a little pleasure in watching Taylor tear his remaining hair at the state of the place. He chuckles at the thought.

Liz greets him with the sort of disproportionate enthusiasm which he always fails to match. On good days the discrepancy leads to her going on and on about her life, her friends, her business, her love life, and on bad days to stiff silences or worse: him being handed over to TJ as a conversational partner.

“TJ’s napping.” 

It’s among the first things she says, and he stifles a sigh of relief. Liz may be a nut but at least he’s comfortable handling her.

“I thought that was Doula’s job.” He retorts.

He closes the door behind himself. He’s strategically left his own bag in the trunk of the car, no need to invite an invite.

“Could you watch her?” Liz walks ahead of him into the kitchen where Doula is sitting on a blanket with some toys. “And put on some coffee will ya? I’m way behind on my orders, I’m just gonna slip out and-”

She doesn’t even finish the sentence before disappearing into the garage. He stands still for a moment and smiles to himself. Then he looks at Doula who looks back at him.

“Just you and me, huh?”

She lets out a sound of some bubbly variety and he shakes his head, like everytime the thought crosses his mind; that she might recognize him, that she’s his sister, and that eventually she’ll learn the word brother, and he will be its definition. 

He heads for the coffeemaker and Doula makes another sound, a protest this time. He walks over to her.

”I’m not going anywhere.”

He picks up the toddler. He’s confident about it, has been even when she was an infant, quick to learn. If Liz can do it, it can’t be that hard. It’s far from the first time that thought has pushed him into trying something, a strange sort of inspiration. If he ever writes an autobiography he should probably mention it. He puts on coffee, holding Doula with one arm. Then he sits her down on her blanket and himself next to it, and lets her show him her toys.

About twenty minutes pass before Liz comes back. She pours herself a cup of coffee and sits down next to Jess and Doula. She talks about her orders, about her new line and he offers the polite affirmation sounds but doesn’t really ask any questions, or offer information about his own life. 

TJ wakes up and Jess immediately offers to take Doula for a walk. He takes her to the park and watches her play, pushes her in the swing and helps her build a track in the sand for her toy cars. They stay for a while. When he gets back it’s late afternoon. He stays by the door and talks to Liz.

“Is this all we get?” Her tone is light, but it never takes much to tip it.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He mumbles, shifting his weight. “I should go.”

“Dinner at Lorelai’s?”

He shakes his head.

“Just gonna meet up with Luke. And if I know the Gilmores it’ll be the entirety of whatever latest menu they got in their mailbox, don’t know if dinner is big enough of a word.”

Liz smiles in an unnerving way and pets his cheek before he has a chance to stop her. 

“Well, whatever it turns out to be, say hi.”

He takes the car, just to be safe, just to be free. He parks it outside Luke’s and heads inside. Luke is tied up with a customer but nods at him as he enters, and he unceremoniously pours himself a cup of coffee and sits down at the edge of the counter waiting for his uncle. After a few minutes Luke walks up to him, while untying his apron.

“So this is a surprise.” He starts, naturally. “Your visit. Liz told me and I thought, is it Christmas already?”

Jess smiles tightly and drinks his coffee while bracing himself.

”Rory need a lift?”

Luke looks pleased with himself, like he figured something out, which is fair, but not exactly a feat that makes him Sherlock Holmes. Jess sighs. 

“Yeah, I see how it is; I’m forever typecasted, no helping out allowed.”

”Oh come on now.” Luke waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Did I say that? But I know you and-” he lowers his voice, “-your bullshit is showing.”

“So? I like her, always have, hardly news I’d be inclined to help her out.” Jess says lightly.

“No, you just remind me of someone s’all.”

“Yeah? Who?”

Luke shrugs.

“Just someone who regularly plays Golden Retriever.”

“Should we get going?” Jess gets out of his chair and goes to pour out the rest of his coffee.

“But you’re probably more of a Labrador, right?” Luke has been waiting for this for six years.

“Whatever you say.” Jess collects his things and heads for the door. “Later, Cesar.”

Luke follows him.

“Or maybe some kind of Terrier? Lot of bark.” He snickers, and Jess shakes his head.

They pass the gazebo. Luke places a hand on his shoulder. Jess hates that it still feels odd, that he can’t even get used to these simple, kind gestures. He kills the feeling by reaching back and patting Luke on the back.

“How are you?”

“Same old, same old, why would you even ask?” Luke mutters.

Jess chuckles, maybe he’s not the only one with difficulties. Luke sighs.

“Town’s as crazy as always, it should try something new sometimes, but that’s the definition of insanity, what can you do? Diner’s the same as always because every time I even consider changing anything there’s a riot, starting at home. Oh, and incidentally; My old lady is the same also, only you won’t catch me complaining about that.”

Jess smiles.

“Your old lady? What are you, a biker?”

“I can’t refer to her as my girlfriend or partner or I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Plus I bet she’s into the biker-title.”

“Yeah, well.” Luke admits.

“You should marry her, solve that problem.”

“Yeah, but then I’d have to ask her and I’d never hear the end of that.”

Jess laughs. Luke and Lorelai’s bickering is a whole lot more fun when they’re happy together than apart and frustrated, there was always a note of danger to that which Jess has grown out of enjoying.

They reach the house and enter. Paul Anka greets them at the door but apart from him the place is quiet.

“The girls are at Lane’s. They decided to bring Al’s entire Pancake World to her, Zack and the boys. Good riddance if you ask me, I’ve had it up to here with Al’s Pad Thai, I even wish he’d go Tex Mex again.”

“So what do we do about dinner?” 

Jess opens the fridge, half-afraid of what he’ll find there. Before he has time to register any content Luke grabs him and leads him away from there.

“You’re not doing anything, I’m cooking. I usually have to fight the fast food joints in this town for the right to feed myself when Lorelai is involved, so I am not wasting an evening like this.”

“Knock yourself out.” Jess sits down at the table.

Luke cooks dinner. They eat. It’s good. Jess puzzles together the recipe to make it himself for another day. They do the dishes. It’s quiet, until it isn’t. Distant voices grow closer. Lorelai and Rory are coming home. Luke wipes the last plate.

“Let’s go.”

“We’re not staying there?”

“Uh-uh, let them have the evening to themselves, we’ll stay at the diner.”

Jess gathers his things once more and follows Luke to the front door. It opens just as they’re about to exit, and mother and daughter fill up the hallway. Lorelai hugs Jess briefly and leans in for a kiss from Luke. Jess looks away and locks eyes with Rory who seems to be on the same mission as him. They smile at each other, it’s warm and close, and the proximity in the small room is just a very small part of why.

“Jess?” Luke says.

He blinks.

“Yeah, let’s go, enjoy your evening.”

They head back to the diner, closed by now. The apartment has gotten better since Luke has stopped living permanently in it. It’s less cluttered, tidy, and Jess’s old room has been converted into some sort of living room, with the TV and a fold out couch. Luke gets two beers from the fridge, hands one to Jess and turns on the TV. They sit down. 

“So, what does your girlfriend think of all this?” When Jess ignores him he clarifies: “You, Rory, roadtrip.”

“Nothing,” Jess takes a sip from his bottle, “she barely asked what I was doing for my weekend. The only way this is even a thing is if I make one of it.”

Luke gestures.

“So, she knows, she doesn’t know?”

“She doesn’t care.”

“Well, how’s the whole roommates going?” Luke tries.

“It’s fine.” Jess says curtly. “Kinda nice to have her close by actually.”

It is. Just because there’s a ton of problems coming along with it doesn’t negate that.

“How’re you holding up?” Luke asks.

Here’s where Jess hits a roadblock. He wants to answer quickly, dismissively, but the word, a simple fine, gets stuck in his throat. He sighs.

“Could we not do this?”

Luke nods.

“Sure. If that’s what you want.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, but Jess doesn’t want Luke thinking that he doesn’t appreciate him offering an ear, because he does, it’s the one he couldn’t do without. He stifles a sigh.

“It’s just, there’s nothing to say, saying stuff won’t fix it, probably the other way around, and it’s too complicated anyway.”

Luke frowns.

“No it’s not.”

“What do you know?” Jess gnarls.

Luke holds up his hands in admittance.

“Okay, fine, situations can be tricky, but your feelings usually aren’t, unless you’re too scared to look at them.” 

“Luke.” It’s a plea.

Luke sighs, shifts in his seat before speaking again.

“Remember that girl you used to date?”

“Vaguely.”

Clearly. He knows who Luke means but they were all the same. No. Not the same. But into him for the same reasons; his armor, his projections, his power, all built on what he’s been through, none of it what he wants to be. Even Nicks is an advanced version of the same kind. Sure, she probably likes a lot of things about him, but it’s how he holds himself together that really matters. Rory is not part of that. He still doesn’t know exactly what she saw, but knows that it was none of that crap of his. Maybe she was being honest that night at the Biergarten; maybe she was lonely without him. 

Luke is just sitting there, nodding, like he’s thinking about Shane.

“Yeah.” He says absently. “Of course, you may be nothing like me.”

“I’m myself enough.” Jess mutters. “Wish I could fix that.”

“Come on now.” Luke lowers the volume on the TV and turns to him. “I’m not saying you don’t deserve the normal kind of contentment. I don’t want you to be lonely, or unhappy, but I want you to have more than enough. Sometimes settling is just running from disappointment.”

Jess is not in a position to say anything dismissive, so he swallows, lowers his voice.

“I know it’s not normal, being wired like this.” 

“Hey.” Luke grabs his lower arm and shakes it a little. “I know you care about Rory for real reasons, give yourself some credit.”

There’s no response good enough. He doesn’t try to provide one, just turns the TV back on.

When he goes to bed - the couch made up - a while later, he watches the ceiling lit up by the too bright street lights - one of Taylor’s attempts to make the town’s zero tolerance on crime reality, burning away the one-point-eight times a years someone actually calls the police with eighteen hundred lumens - and stray shadows from the trees sneak into the apartment. He reaches for New York, Brooklyn, Nicks in his mind but it feels fake, so he stops. He listens to Luke who’s already snoring, the buzzing from the fridge, the light ticking from the clock. 

He feels the ache in his chest. It’s not new, it’s the least new thing in his life, but these days he mostly ignores it, just like he did before he moved to Stars Hollow, before he even knew Luke. It’s only here, in the apartment above the diner, that it’s actually okay to just feel it, he doesn’t know why, or maybe he does, but he’s not up for acknowledging it.

**July 20, 2008**

“I don’t see why you can’t stay at our place when you’re visiting.”

Liz is more on edge today. Even after Jess has spent several hours with Doula at the park, helping with cooking lunch, doing the dishes, listening to TJ tell the story of him joining the Stars Hollow Historical Society, painfully participating and getting kicked out slash quitting, but since it’s his word against Taylors it could be either way. 

Now he’s readying to leave and Liz won’t let him without putting up a fight. 

“You really wanna have that conversation?”

He knows she doesn’t. He doesn’t even think she really wants him around that much, but like, he gets it: She wants to want him there, or she wants him around but a bit to the left, him to be a different son. Maybe he’s too hard on her, she can’t change any of what happened between them, and he’s not ready to ask for anything she might be able to do in any constructive way, but he can’t help himself.

“Well, why not stay longer?”

“Liz-”

“And why don’t you ever bring your girlfriend home?”

He’s about to protest the basic concept of home but remembers that it really is to Liz, to Luke. And he feels cheated, in a way, raised a New Yorker only to have that yanked - no pun intended - away from under him. She could have stayed here, had him here, his life would have been different, even if nothing else would’ve changed. Now he’s like an immigrant in his own home country. Weird. Stars Hollow, home? Nicks in Stars Hollow? What would be worse? Her liking it or hating it?

“I don’t think we’re there yet.” He says, not specifying if he means Liz or Nicks, not knowing himself.

“Or maybe you’re embarrassed or something.” TJ lets out from his seat at the table, Doula in his arms.

Jess snorts, gestures decisively at him.

“You do not know what you’re talking about, man.”

“Yeah, TJ, butt outta this, please.” Liz says.

She turns to Jess. They look at each other. She closes her eyes, smiles.

“Hey. I get it, the vibes need to be right everywhere.”

Her habit to lean on hippie mumbo-jumbo is becoming a coping mechanism for both of them. She leans her forehead to his, he lets her, closes his eyes for just a second and lets himself feel it. 

She wants things to be different too but she’s powerless and frustrated, that’s why she’s been such a crappy mother through the years. They say people who lose their parents early are stunted, Luke is too, in his way. But they had to grow up anyway. Luke accepted that, Liz didn’t. 

And at the thought he wonders if Nicks is more like his mother in that way. Her apartment, her obsession with people, it’s a way to never be alone again. He can’t blame her, even if he can’t relate completely, and her way of dealing with loneliness is definitely more constructive than Liz’s ever was. 

Liz lets him go but he’s still exhausted. This is why he doesn’t improvise visits this way, he needs preparation. 

He drives to Hartford and rings the doorbell of the looming Gilmore mansion. Seconds pass and he takes a few steps back to regard the house. Lights are turned on and visible through windows, but there’s no movement inside, no sound makes it through the brick walls.

The door finally opens and a woman in service clothes appears. They squint at each other.

“Yes?”

He resists glancing down to remind himself of whatever worn t-shirt he’s wearing, how torn his jeans are.

“The Gilmores?”

She lets him in. Rory comes rushing down the hall. The woman makes an attempt to remove his jacket. Rory interrupts her before it becomes a struggle. The woman disappears in the direction of the kitchen. Jess smiles at Rory, slightly embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I was confused by the-”

“Yeah, they usually open the door too.”

“Am I early?”

“You’re right on time, a sight for sore eyes really.” 

She looks like she means it. They smile at each other, a little lost in it, like yesterday. Steps approach and interrupt them. It’s Emily Gilmore. He remembers her of course, but she looks older now, sharper, all the pretense of his first visit put aside.

“Grandma, you remember Jess.”

“I do.” 

She doesn’t reach for his hand, but then again, he doesn’t offer it, even if he’s not sure which of the two came first.

“Jess is here to pick me up, we’re driving back to New York together.”

Emily smiles coldly.

“Well, I’m sure you don’t want to rush the girls, we’re having coffee and brandy.”

He opens his mouth and looks at Rory, who shoots him sort of a helpless smile.

“‘Course not.” He says.

He finally slides out of his jacket, and Rory immediately takes it from him hanging it on the hall stand. Emily sticks her arm under Rory’s and leads her back into the living room, Jess follows awkwardly. Lorelai is sitting on the sofa and looks both amused and sorry to see him coming. 

In a big black chair, probably on loan from the hospital, sits Richard Gilmore. They’ve never met, he’s just seen pictures at Lorelai’s: a few have appeared over the last couple of years as their relationship apparently has gotten better. He’s paler, thinner than in the photos though, leaning back in his chair, tired. Jess hesitates for a second, looks at Rory for guidance, before deciding that he really needs to grab the bull by the horns. He walks up to Richard, Rory has to rush to introduce him.

He takes Richard’s hand, and the older man smiles faintly at him. Jess backs away, relieved to have the greeting out of the way.

“How do you know my granddaughter?” Richard asks.

Jess blinks, opens his mouth without knowing what he’s about to say.

“He’s Luke’s nephew.” Lorelai says. “He and Rory share an apartment together with some other people.”

Richard nods in recognition that’s obviously not real. Jess exchanges a look with Rory, Lorelai, and reluctantly Emily, and feels it’s very lucky Richard isn’t connecting the dots. Rory ushers him to a chair, face apologetic.

“Do you want something to drink?” She whispers, while whatever conversation was going on before continues between the others.

He shakes his head.

“What I really want is to get out of here.”

”Working on it.”

She fetches him some water anyway which he holds onto for something to do. She and Lorelai are unusually silent, letting Richard and Emily pick topics, just providing some overly chipper commentary. It’s clearly an awkward situation for everyone except possibly Richard who might be too tired to notice. Jess looks at Rory and sees the lost in her eyes between jokes, he looks at Lorelai, wishes suddenly, that he was someone who could sweep in with actual help and grand promises he was able to keep. Someone who was allowed to. Even if it would mean spending more time in this house. But he is who he is and has nothing else to offer.

Fortunately it doesn’t last very long. Richard doses off and the conversation falls quiet. The women sit silently for a few seconds. It feels like nails on a chalkboard.

He clears his throat.

“We should go.” Rory says.

He stands up and reaches for her, like an idiot, like she’s his, but she doesn’t seem to mind, just joins him as they head for the hall. He’s in his jacket quickly. She takes more time, waiting for Lorelai and Emily to catch up, for them to escort them out. Lorelai stands close to Rory, Emily a bit away.

“I wasn’t exactly over the moon when I heard she was getting back into a car with you.” She says.

She obviously remembers everything. The same old story, or versions of it, acted out over and over by everyone involved. He doesn’t know what to say, one part of him is defensive, another wants to apologize, for everything.

“That was an accident, grandma.” Rory’s quicker.

“Accidents require unfortunate circumstances, no need to repeat them.”

That hurts, because he sort of, kind of believes it’s true.

“I’m gonna wait in the car.” He mumbles.

Rory laughs, he’s surprised at the sound and looks at her, sees that she’s angry, only handling it with humor.

“Can I come with you?” She asks him, and he smiles, dazed.

“Rory-” Emily starts.

“No seriously,” Rory bites, “we were done with this discussion seven years ago, I told you the truth; accident, you insisted on devil worship, I ignored it and moved on with my life, and if you can’t keep up, too bad.” She finishes, and hugs Lorelai. “Bye mom.” She kisses Emily’s cheek despite her grandmother still looking displeased. “See you soon, grandma.”

They leave Hartford. Rory rifles through the glove compartment and finds some Bad Religion that she proceeds to play at maximum volume enthusiastically bopping along. Somewhere after New Haven she lowers the volume.

“We’re gonna have to stop for coffee, there’s a roadside café coming up that’s decent.”

He obeys, follows her instructions. The place is big and ugly; housing a gas station, a service station and a rest stop. The café is brightly lit by luminous tubes over the counter, and twinkle lights along the windows facing the 95, the floor is cracked and dirty and the music is just from the local station, but Rory skips into it, picking a table and ordering coffee for him, soda for herself, and fries to share from the tired waitress. 

“You’re cheery.” He remarks.

“I’m euphoric from the freedom.” She laughs. 

“And you’ve gotten spunkier.” He adds.

“I picked some up.” She jokes, then sighs. “You’ve always had yours though; you picked me up, came inside, you’re a brave man.”

He winces.

“I don’t know about that.”

Their drinks and fries arrive. She starts eating, he sips his coffee.

“So, how was your visit?” He asks.

She chews, swallows, considering her answer. 

“Needed, I guess, even after everything.” She sighs. “You caught grandpa at a bad time, he was spryer earlier.”

He chuckles.

“That might’ve been a disadvantage for me, if he has the memory of your grandma.”

“Well, I would’ve liked for you to meet him while he was more like himself.”

“He’ll get better.” I could come back prepared, next time, he thinks for no reasonable reason.

She nods absently.

“The doctor says so too, things should calm down around here.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes.

“You can get back to work.” He says.

“Yeah.” She says slowly.

“You don’t seem too happy about that.”

She makes eye contact.

“I don’t know that I am.” She turns her soda glass a couple of degrees, it makes a sound as it drags against the surface of the table.

“I wish I could help.” He says.

She smiles.

“You are.” 

She looks at him and he hates how out of control he feels, like he’s falling and grasping for something to hold onto. She clears her throat.

“How was your visit? I know you didn’t plan for it-”

He sighs and laughs at the same time.

“It was fine, like always, I’m used to it.”

“Wow. You really did do me a favor.”

“No. Yes. I-” He hesitates. “I’m always looking for excuses to go there.”

She shrugs.

“It’s home, right?”

“Not to me.”

She frowns.

“Your sister’s there.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just ’cause of Doula or Luke; It’s for Liz too.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling her, he’s barely even formed the thought for personal use. “I guess I still...” 

He falls quiet because he can’t pick what to say next. Still what? Still angry, still waiting, still hoping, still wishing. Just still. There’s still time for still. Nicks doesn’t have that. She’s moved on. Meanwhile he still feels all of the things he’s ever felt. What do you do with that?

“I don’t know why Liz would even want me there, she’s mostly uneasy when I am, and I don’t know why I go- ’cause i’m not that guy.”

He looks up at her and she’s stirring her soda with her straw, nodding slightly. 

“Have you read White Oleander?”

He can’t help smiling. 

“Yeah.”

“There’s this quote…” She taps her chin, squinting. “Being with someone so dangerous was the last time I felt safe.”

“Yeah.” He can barely manage the simple sound of the word.

“My mom isn’t dangerous, as long as you keep her caffeinated, but-” She starts, stops, goes on. “And I don’t know what Liz did, so I’m not in a position to judge- I could, if you wanted me to, remember those ears, and I hope you don’t think I’m telling you to blindly forgive and forget ‘cause I’m not, I’m just talking about understanding yourself.”

She’s rambling, maybe falling too, but it’s comforting, at least he’s not alone. 

“My point is your family, you know them, and they know you, even if they do it badly, I just think that a lot of our comfort comes from being known, maybe not always understood but known. I’m betting that’s why Liz wants you there even if you don’t get along, to keep it real.” She pauses, nods in pace with her words. “I mean, my mom, my grandparents, my dad, it’s a very familiar can of worms.”

He clears his throat.

“Your can of worms.”

“Mine.” She taps her chest with her fist. “And you think- you know- that others have it better, and sometimes you want that, but it wouldn’t be yours, you wouldn’t fit because it’s not where you’re from. And most of the time, not always, but most of the time, the better things are just cans of unknown content. I know, ‘cause I’m part of what some people consider better things and I…” She lifts her face and looks straight at him. “I still, too.”

She takes a sip of soda as if she needs more.

“And you wanna know what your problem is?” She continues, pointing her straw at him.

“Please.” He can’t keep real desperation from seeping into his humor, maybe she notices, but it hardly matters at this point.

“It’s that you always painted yourself into every corner you could find. But the good news is you can step over paint, you can jump, or get your shoes dirty. And you say you’re not that guy, but maybe that’s exactly who you are.” 

She takes a deep breath, and watches him intently. He raises his cup in some sort of acknowledgement.

“Maybe.” He says.

“I’m right about you.” She mumbles.

“I hope so.”

She finishes up minutes after that and they get back in the car and drive the rest of the way. 

**July 21, 2008**

It’s late when they arrive, past midnight on a Sunday. He parks a few blocks away, the only open spot he can find, and they walk together back to the building. Rory’s still in a good mood, from the food or sugar but he has to consider the possibility that she’s happy from just spending time with him too, there’s too much evidence for him to ignore it by now. She skips ahead of him and stops by the elevator.

“Why don’t we ever ride this thing?”

“Because it takes twice as long as just climbing the stairs.”

She smiles widely.

“Let’s do it!”

He gives in.

“Fine, weirdo.”

She pulls at the door, it’s old, heavy and she has to really lean away from it, it’s adorable. He helps her pull it open as well as the inner door. The interior is old, unchanged since the house was built, wooden paneling, and brass cage bars. A panel for buttons in fake mother of pearl and space above it where a mirror used to be. It’s just wide enough to hold two. So they fit themselves in; their backs against the opposing walls. They’re close enough to share warmth. He’s close enough to smell her, the fries and coffee from before and chewing gum on her breath, the soap from Lorelai’s shower mingling with sweat, all working to make him dizzy. 

This was a mistake. But it’s too late now. 

She’s smiling, an inch from his face and he can’t help himself, doesn’t even register anything about his impulse other than its strength and speed. It nearly shakes him loose from reality, his hands close tightly around the metal bars behind him. She stops smiling as it becomes obvious to her what he’s thinking. He still reaches to pull the door shut as it needs to be in order for the elevator to work, and she reaches for the buttons, hovers her finger over the right one, their arms crossed over one another’s. Her face still has that happy glow, but she’s serious too, eyes nailed to the panel, or if it’s his arm. She pushes the button slowly but firmly, stroking her arm against his in the process. He shivers.

The elevator makes a ghostly sound as it rocks into motion, the act of it echoing down the shaft. Reluctant clanks of wires and chains being dragged. The sound of a haunted house. He makes an attempt to say something, but is out of words. Her eyes flick to his face anyway, at his motion, his breath, and searches him softly, attentively. Her mouth falls slightly open in an audible breath, she looks helpless. 

I gotta go take care of something. The urge is as strong as it’s ever been. Break up with Nicks. It’s the first time he actually shapes the words in his head, puts them in sequence. They hurt, and something else... He’s stupid, that’s what it is. He’s the helpless one. Helplessly in love with Rory Gilmore.

The elevator comes to a sharp, rumbling stop, and the silence after is peppered with echoes from the shaft and the faint buzzing from the lamp locked in its brass cage at the ceiling. They don’t move.

Luke is right; It’s simple. Too easy. At the tip of his fingers, his tongue. All it would take is him leaning into it, one inch, and he wouldn’t need to say anything else. Two years ago he wouldn’t even have hesitated, and part of him grieves the loss of that person.

“Why couldn’t you have told me you were leaving?” 

It’s a whisper but it cuts him right through as he instantly understands what she’s referring to. He blinks and sees her eyes are shiny. He swallows.

“I can’t talk about this, Rory.” It comes out hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken for days. 

She goes on talking, voice full of cracks.

“I mean, it wouldn’t have made a big difference back then, but it still would’ve changed everything.”

“I can’t think about that.” He forces himself into action, reaches and pushes the bars open.

“Why?”

“Because I fucked up. And when I got my shit together you had moved on and now-” He leans against the door for it to open. “Do you know what I would’ve given to hear that two years ago?” 

He exits. She follows him to their door.

“You wish it was different.” She says.

He fumbles for his keys.

“But I don’t want to.”

He finds the keys but is too stressed to find the right one, it’s dark.

“Because of Nicks.”

“Right.” He gives up on trying to unlock the door, leans his forehead on it instead. “Why couldn’t you have wrecked me worse in Philadelphia?”

“What?”

“I never should’ve left Truncheon that night, I should’ve stayed there alone, I wouldn’t have talked to Nicks, we wouldn’t have-”

Her eyes widen. She interrupts him, speaks quickly, pleading.

“No, Jess. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have come to Philadelphia in the first place, it was selfish, and insane and I’m so sorry I did that.”

He looks at her. She’s right, but he can’t even bring himself to wish she had stayed away.

There’s something so fundamentally wrong about her being right, right there, and him not being able to do anything about it, but there it is: He wants her to be right about him too, about him being a good person. Ironically she can’t be right if he winds up acting on this, despite what they both might want. She deserves better than to be put in that position. So he swallows it all down.

“You have to help me out by not-” He pauses, takes a breath, finds his key, unlocks the door but leaves it closed, stares at the floor. “I’m not up for talking about what might’ve been, okay? Maybe I’ll never be. I don’t think we can be friends like that.”

There’s silence, he uses it to try to get himself together, finish this, leave it here.

“Sorry.” She says.

He looks back at her, and forces a smile to smooth over the entire conversation. She shrugs, smiles a bleak little smile in response to his. 

“We could file it away as just a throw-away line. A dumb joke.”

No. He can’t bring himself to do that either. It’s too late.

“Jesus, Rory. What do you think I’m made of?”

His voice echoes between the walls, full of sharp edges. She stops smiling. 

“Why do we have to wreck everything?” He whispers.

He finally turns the handle, opens the door, walks into the hall, hangs his jacket and turns to look at her - still outside the door. 

He’s so stupid, that’s what it is. Helplessly in love with a person who’s used him like a tool, the memory of Nicks’s words sting, but also keeps him in check, so he adds to it: Maybe not helplessly, but willfully, stubbornly in love with someone who left him with his finger in the dam, someone who he had to bait into being with him the first time around, it doesn’t matter that she’s never been intentionally careless, he can’t trust it. That’s the thing, that’s what it is what it is means. He needs to stop being such an idiot.

“I think we need to try to be just roommates for a while.”

She looks at him, pale. She nods.

“Alright.”

She steps across the threshold.


	10. A Room With[out You]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything falls apart.

**July 26, 2008**

They stay clear of each other the following days, he takes his work elsewhere, makes up excuses to stay away, but by midweek he gives it up, starts looking for her, and it becomes evident that she’s much better at keeping her distance. Her door is closed or her room is empty. He’s jittery and it’s first when he sees her, on Saturday afternoon, that he gets that it’s from being away from her. She’s stepping out of her room, and stops when she sees him sitting on the couch in the common room. He’s relieved at having her in his line of sight, it exhilarates and depresses him simultaneously, however that’s possible. 

She’s in a black pencil skirt, white shirt and a jacket over, her hair is rolled up in a bun. Her appearance pulls at him and makes him uneasy all at once. They stare at each other for a second and she smiles while looking away, it looks like she’s blushing but he can’t be sure. She locks her door and looks back at him opening her mouth as if to say something but is interrupted by Nicks appearing in the corridor. She leans on the doorway, gives Rory a once over and smiles.

“You look great.” She says. “Have a good time.”

“Thanks.” Rory smiles. “You too.” She throws a furtive glance at Jess and heads for the door. 

Nicks walks into the room and crouches next to the LP player, she’s in yoga pants and a loose tank top, her tattoo visible when she lifts her arms to place the record, something by Fleetwood Mac, on the player. She is beautiful, and seems miles away despite being right there. The door in the hallway opens and shuts as Rory presumably exits the apartment. Nicks gets up and sits down next to him, opening a magazine. 

“Where is she going?” He asks, tone level.

“Adam asked her out.” She frowns at him. “I thought she’d have told you.”

He shakes his head, mumbling something about them not having time to talk lately. There’s a pause and he sees Nicks looking at him.

“You don’t have to worry.” She says. “He’s a good guy.”

It’s too close, telling her that her track record isn’t exactly reassuring, so he’s quiet, and nods. Nicks browses the pages of her magazine, hums along with the music. She seems far away, because his heart is full of something- someone else. He hasn’t had room for her for weeks. He misses her in her presence and decides to spend more time with her. That’s the way it is with relationships, you just have to lean into them a bit. And stop being so goddamn idiotic.

**August 1, 2008**

A week passes. He asks to take over whatever work isn’t nailed to the Philadelphia desks. He and Nicks go out with friends. He tells himself it’s like it used to be. It’s late Thursday or it might already be Friday. He’s in the kitchen either way, drinking some ill-advised coffee and re-reading the same page for the third time. Nicks has gone to bed, Mark is working, Paula and Izzy have their doors closed. 

The door to the apartment opens and he hears a mumble travel the hallway, carrying the echoes from the stairwell. Rory, and Adam. They’ve been out, second date if you count the times she’s gotten dressed up, he’s been trying not to notice, and it’s been impossible. 

A few minutes pass before the door closes and Rory’s steps approach the kitchen. It goes quiet and he glances in her direction. She’s standing by her door but eyes on him, clearly weighing her options. A second passes, then she smiles and heads to the kitchen. She reaches it and leans on the door frame, watching him. He looks up, trying to keep his expression as passive as possible.

“Hi.” She starts.

“Hey.”

”Don’t you ever sleep?” Her voice is like a whisper.

He swallows, looks away, she clears her throat.

“What are you reading?”

He lifts his copy of Great Expectations making the cover visible to her. She smiles, so openly, but it only hurts to see. Nothing is like it used to be, or everything, depending on how you count. He clears his throat, articulates the words to all their edges.

“How was your date?”

Her smile tightens.

“It was fine. We went to the movies. That Batman one, he’s into comics.”

“Kiss him goodnight?” The words are out of his mouth so quickly it’s clear they were never going to have this conversation without him asking.

She frowns.

“Why do you ask?”

He gets up.

“Obviously to avoid asking the real question.”

He brings his cup to the sink and starts rinsing it off.

“And what is that?” She asks.

He puts the cup in the dishrack, turns to her and keeps his voice low.

“Do you like him?”

She shrugs, even smiles.

“I don’t know.” She tilts her head. “Why, what do you think of him?”

He doesn’t tell her he thought he was an okay guy until he started dating her.

“My opinion doesn’t matter, you should come up with one yourself.”

She sighs, clearly annoyed. Good.

“Well, I’ve only dated him for a week, I’m in no rush to figure it out.”

Taking her time, more time, of this. Unbearable. This has to stop, in any possible way. 

“Maybe you should try. It’s no good stringing someone along.”

Ouch. Even as the words fall from his mouth he’s thinking how they’re untrue, how the true ones would involve some sort of apology, for ages ago, for giving her such a hard time about Dean, because now he knows how she felt. She’s cracked his world open, and maybe that’s exactly what he did to her back then. 

Her expression darkens considerably.

“You’re one to talk, you’re the one who hasn’t decided if you’re in love with your girlfriend yet.”

“It’s not the same.” He tries.

“No, it’s worse. We’ve been on two dates, you’ve known your girl for two years, dated her for months- you’re living with her-” Her voice is uneven. “What are you even doing?”

This is getting out of hand, but he can’t stop.

“We can’t all be like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He takes a step towards her, gesturing.

“You like everyone, Ror. It’s no big deal for you. I couldn’t care less for most people, the ones I like I can count on one hand.”

“So?”

“So, emotions don’t come easy to me, I can’t just strew them around like confetti.”

“And I do?” She’s upset.

“You care about everyone’s feelings, their opinions. Seems you’re in relationships with almost everyone in your life regardless of who they are to you.” He takes a step towards her. ”You’ve been into several guys at the same time. You have to have some way of sorting through them, otherwise, what does anyone mean to you?” He takes another step, placing them inches apart. “So, how hard is it to tell what you feel for this guy?”

She shakes her head, bites her lip.

“You don’t know a thing about what I feel, for him or anyone.”

“Apparently, neither do you.”

She takes a sharp breath, looks away and back to him, eyes shiny.

“Damn you, Jess.” 

Her voice is surprisingly soft but he still jerks at her words. 

She stands her ground, doesn’t move, just stands there looking at him, clearly wounded. He wants to say he’s sorry then and there, but if he starts being soft with her again he won’t be able to stop. 

He can’t look at her, just turns and heads to the bedroom. It’s dark in there. He doesn’t turn on the light, just undresses and goes to bed. His heart is racing and he knows he won’t get to sleep for a while. 

The only sound is Nicks sleeping, but the inside of his head makes noises. He’s spent as much time as he’s been able to with her, but it hasn’t been enough. When it’s been enough it’s always because he’s given her something and gotten something in return. An admission, an entrustment, something real. Why can’t he feel it? He knows why. He wants to be real with her but can’t, because the things he’s dying to get off his chest, everything that’s real to him is wrong. Did Rory kiss Adam goodnight? 

He bites back a profanity and imagines it playing out differently, he hasn’t done that for over a year. He replays their argument in the kitchen never really turning into an argument, he thinks how he doesn’t badger her like an idiot, but just kisses her instead. He remembers exactly how. He thinks how she doesn’t pull away this time but the opposite. It used to be enough to just kiss anyone before he met her. Then he had to learn how to handle wanting someone completely, an entire person. And everything after that always leaves him kind of wanting more. He thinks about kissing her and that it’ll mean he doesn’t feel so hungry, empty all the time but maybe finally satisfied. He thinks about it and his head gets quiet.

**August 8, 2008**

It’s been another week. He’s studied in preparation for the test, the whole thing is starting to lose its sense of urgency. He has trouble concentrating anyway and the thought that he doesn’t really need a GED is making an eerily strong comeback. To add insult to injury, he can’t look in the mirror, all he sees is her, somehow, behind his own closed face, he understands why no one can tell what’s going on, but he himself, can’t not see it. 

He looks at Nicks through the mirror instead. She’s blow drying her hair, eyes half closed, head tilted towards the airstream. So many guys are into her, she had to fight them off, tooth and nail, before they got together. He’s never been jealous, and he knows why now obviously, can’t ignore it. He remembers Dean and that excruciating sting of just knowing he existed, took up place, had her, and he remembers Logan, can’t think about him without clenching his fists. 

The weeks following her visit at Truncheon two years ago is mostly a blur, but he remembers one afternoon, being too hung-over to move, staring at the wall, Chris sending off his latest conquest and then sitting down to talk his ear off about how he could never fully commit to one person, to anyone, and how he was happy about that considering the state of Jess. But even as he said the words, he had a strange look, almost a kind of envy.

“Seriously, what is it about her?” He said.

“I think it might be something about me. I’ve been looking really hard but, I can’t find any part of me that hasn’t got her all over it. I wouldn’t know where to start carving.” There was a shaky pause as the words sunk into the both of them. ”I probably need therapy.”

“You think?”

It was true, he’d tried everything. Isolating her in himself, imagining if he’d made different decisions all together. He’d even allowed himself to imagine never coming to Stars Hollow, but it made him feel sick. The pain was inevitable, it had to be there. And by the time he and Nicks became a thing, he had accepted it. 

As long as Rory is just another part of him he can drag her along. But actually living with her, having her in his proximity... It doesn’t work, because then he has to admit that she’s her own entire person, and that he wants to be with her. That’s why he’s ache personified.

“What’s going on Jess?”

He jerks at Nicks’s words, and meets her eyes through the mirror. She cocks her head to the side.

“What do you like about me?” He asks without meaning to.

She’s apparently dumbstruck, her face is unusually open. Then she smiles, puts down the hair dryer. She shrugs, steps closer.

“I like that you’re steady, safe, silent, that I can just…” She puts her arms around his waist from behind. “-stand inside you.”

Wearing him, like he’s a piece of clothing.

“Why? What do you like about me?” She asks.

He briefly considers it, can’t help it. She doesn’t get under his skin, she stays out, he gets to choose when he wears her. She thinks of him the same way he thinks of her, they’re each other’s disguises, armor.

“Jess?”

He wants to ignore the question, wants to object to her way of liking him, wants to tell her he’s only steady, only plays it safe because he has to. He’s only silent because he doesn’t know what he’ll say. 

He’s a bad writer. All his words, all their pretty sequence, they don’t tell the truth. He can’t think clearly so he can’t speak clearly so he can’t act clearly, or maybe it’s the other way around. He feels clearly though, unfortunately. He wrote the Subsect because he needed to but it wasn’t what he needed. Laura is not a fictional character. 

And he’s gonna have to leave Nicks over it. 

Their eyes meet in the mirror and for a second it’s all there. He can’t hide it, and it’s clear that she can see, she has to. But then the funniest thing happens; She looks away.

”We should get going.”

He takes a breath.

”Yeah.”

He finishes getting dressed, like everything isn’t falling apart, and heads out with Nicks, and no one notices a thing.

**August 15, 2008**

Another few days pass and he keeps busy. It’s been years since he actively self-sabotaged. He’s out of practice. Why didn’t he tell her he was leaving? He didn’t assume it would mean nothing to her. He assumed it would mean nothing to him. Everything hurt back then, why would passing that hurt to her make a difference? That’s how he discovered what he defined as pain was really just numbness. Her voice on the phone, her face when he returned, that was pain. That level of dramatic irony, that pain would be the thing teaching him all about love. And now, he’ll do it again. He’ll leave Nicks, is that how he’ll know what she means to him? So he procrastinates, knows what he has to do, but pretends he doesn’t. 

Then they go out, and he can tell she’s going to do her best to get them drunk, get them back to the good old days, the ones he has problems placing on a timeline right about now. Still, they’re at The Deep, a place just a block away, drinking copious amounts of beer, drowning in the music. Who knows? It wouldn’t be the first time an evening like that shook something loose in him that needed to get lost.

They’re at a table in the corner, in the good chairs, silently in accord, swallowed by the noisy band that’s an hour into the set. He’s on his third beer and comfortably numb. She’s leaning on him and he lets her. They’re close even when they’re distant. The lights from the stage flashes and his mind is blissfully blank. 

A silhouette blacks out the lights, and he squints, annoyed. Adam slips into the chair opposing them and leans in. 

“Mind if I join you?”

Jess really does, but he doesn’t have the energy to tell him no nicely. And Nicks never says no to company.

“Who are you here with?” She asks, looking for more merry-makers.

Adam leans closer, smiles, a bit smudged around the edges.

“Just m’self.” He grabs a few peanuts from their bowl tossing them into his mouth. 

Jess stares at Adam chewing, brushing the salt from his fingers, the idea of him kissing and touching Rory flooding his brain. Everything is uncomfortable. His seat, his inebriation, the noise, his clothes, him being stuck between two people at a table. Adam keeps talking.

“Rory and I made casual plans but that was days ago and she hasn’t returned my phone calls, I think we might be done.”

“Oh no.” Nicks sounds sympathetic, leans in.

Adam gestures vaguely. 

“Look, it doesn’t even matter, I wasn’t even that into her, but, y’know, we could’ve had some fun. Now it just seems like a wasted week.”

“Adam!” Nicks's tone is somewhat sharp even with outraged laughter in it.

“What?”

Nicks nods her head in Jess’s direction, Adam looks at him and lets out a short laugh theatrically slapping his palm against his forehead..

“You used to date Rory.”

Finally.

“Yeah, that’s right.” 

Jess tries to make the words as ominous as possible, to end it right here, but subtlety is not working on Adam, who holds up his hands and shrugs.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Was she a tease back then too?”

He’s well-acquainted with rage like this and closes his fist around it instead of acting on it. It’s part of his new and bettered persona, the kind that doesn’t beat the shit out of people anymore, the kind that doesn’t get beat up. Violence is not part of their world, but he’s dying to introduce Adam to some. He won’t though. It would hurt Nicks. He leans in, tries to let out his aggression in his words instead, hisses:

”You’re a piece of shit.”

His heartbeat rings in his ears, even through the loud music. Adam laughs, like it’s a game. 

“I know, right?” He says. 

Swallowing this shit makes Jess feel sick, and he gets up, rather swiftly, and heads for the bathrooms. Nicks says his name but he keeps moving. There’s a crowd and it slows him down enough for Adam to catch up. The light is better here and he’s clearly drunk, more so than usual. He places a hand on Jess’s shoulder and Jess gathers all his willpower to not slap it away. 

“Listen, no offence, man.” Adam says.

He’s smiling, but can’t hide that it’s from hassling Jess rather than anything else. He has no idea what he’s messing with. Jess takes a slow breath. In. Out.

“You should get some coffee.” He finally says.

Adam places his other hand on the other shoulder and leans closer.

“No, but I gotta ask you something.”

Jess forces himself to stand still, feels like he’ll lose it if he moves too erratically. 

“You’re a sullen fucker, how do you get these girls?” Adam splutters. “Rory, this small town-, ivy league-princess, and Nicks, fucking queen of everything- And you- you just slide in and land her. Like it’s nothing.”

So, this is really about her. 

“How do you do it?”

Jess bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. Smiles, mostly just by showing teeth. Nicks arrives, reaches for him. He moves away from it, can’t handle more hands on him right now. He sticks his face closer to Adam’s instead and speaks slowly.

“I never needed some strategy, man, but I figure not talking shit about them, or openly comparing them like cattle in or outside their presence is probably a start.”

Nicks’s hand closes around his t-shirt and there’s a light pull.

“Jess-”

“Oh get off your high horse!” Adam steps backwards and gestures vividly, brushes Jess’s cheeks with his nails. “Everybody compares.”

Jess slaps his hand away.

“I don’t need to. There is no comparison.”

“To whom exactly?” 

He stiffens. Shit. He looks at Nicks, and before anything else has a chance to happen he grabs her hand.

“Let’s go.” 

He heads outside with her in tow. As soon as the door closes behind them she tears her hand from his and starts walking down the sidewalk.

“Nicks.”

She keeps walking.

“Dominique!”

She spins around.

“Don’t use my name!” She growls.

Jess swallows, tries for common ground.

“Adam was a jerk.”

“No argument here.” She frowns at him. ”This isn’t about him though, not even close.” 

“I was angry for her!” He insists. “If he’d talked that way about Paula you’d have his nuts!”

“That’s beside the point!” She paces the sidewalk in front of him, before stopping and staring at him. “Do you know about your face?”

“What?” He throws the word out, angry and confused.

“It’s statuesque.” She spits. “I’ve learned to like it, because it means I can hear you better, take you on your words but-” She shakes her head. “You should have seen yourself in there, it was stone come to life. It was beyond implications.” She pushes her fingers into her already tussled hair and pulls at it. “I don’t know what you’ve been up to.” 

“Nothing.” His response is automatic, but he regrets it as soon as it’s out, nothing being such a big word.

She laughs, it’s cold and hard, like a war-cry. He steps towards her.

“Nothing’s happened.” It’s not untrue.

“Maybe not at skin level.” She paces another round and when she speaks again it’s as if she’s alone. “I can’t believe I’m someone’s back-up-”

“You’re not a back-up-”

“-a stabilizing influence! I’m in no position to be that!”

“You’re not a back-up!”

She looks back at him and he sees it in her eyes, what he’s taken from her.

“Oh, really? Say I forgive you, would you stay with me?”

He can’t. He can’t answer either.

“That’s what I thought.” She turns away, and her shoulders rise quickly in a sharp breath.

He wants to reach for her but shouldn’t. With her he’s apparently capable of controlling himself. Instead he stands, looking at her back while she’s staring at the passing traffic. A minute passes. 

She turns back towards him but doesn’t face him completely. Her voice is low.

“Am i like her you think?”

The question is an admission, an entrustment and he only has realness left to answer with. Too bad reality is nothing but a wrecking ball.

“No, not at all.” He forcibly holds his voice even. ”You made me think of someone other than her.”

It’s a relief telling her something true even if it must hurt her. She smiles absently, crookedly.

“There’s a thing like that I read about, it’s an optic illusion, when you look at one spot hard enough and then away, the spot follows, so you see a different spot, but really, it’s nothing there.” 

He’s about to say her name to soften- he doesn’t even know what, maybe him being a horrible person, but she lifts her head, and his voice gets tangled in his throat at her expression.

“Did you consider my feelings?”

That is pain, but he has no right to it. He can’t not answer.

“Yes, I just couldn’t help my own.”

She blinks, looks away, pins her gaze to a spot on the ground. Cars pass them on the street. She speaks without looking at him.

“Here’s what’s happened: We’re through. And here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna go back in there and finish my beer, watch the rest of the gig.” She looks up, her eyes shiny. “When I get back I want you gone. Got it?”

He nods. Nicks passes him and heads for the door. He has to limit the damage.

“She didn’t do anything wrong. I need you to know that.” 

Nicks stops, turns back to him. His words keep coming.

“She just- whenever she’s around I can’t help-”

“I don’t wanna know about that, Jess. But if you think I’ll take this out on her I don’t think you know me at all.” She walks back inside.

He remains on the sidewalk, tries to feel it. Why can’t he feel it? Two years. It’s just empty. No, not quite, he’s still pissed at Adam, not to mention himself. What’s wrong with him? He takes a step back, thinks about his work, about Truncheon, about Chris and Izzy. He has to go back to Philadelphia, tonight. He turns and starts walking.


	11. Tender is the [M]ight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything falls away.

**August 16, 2008**

The apartment is empty, everyone’s out and about. Except Rory. She’s sitting on her bed in her pyjamas. It’s too warm for it but the outfit is part of her strategy to stay in her room. She’s been keeping her door shut. She’s been staring at the folded boxes stuck behind her bookshelf. In that way this night is no different from the last few weeks. She thinks about Stars Hollow, about going back on the road. She’d be less lonely, have more purpose than if she stays put. She didn’t want to leave one week ago, not two weeks ago. But she should now. She should move. 

After the elevator, the night they got back from Stars Hollow, she just switched to auto pilot. Just roommates. She could do that. She tried to do that. She went to work, hung out with her colleagues, got her car back from the shop. Things would calm down in time. 

Just roommates. Why aren’t you dating anyone? Thus Adam. She just stopped playing defence with him, didn’t take him long to renew his offer. But it’s not meant to be serious, just fun, a distraction, and she knows he feels the same way about her. Dating is easy, these days, she hasn’t cared since she broke up with Logan. It’s no big deal. It’s easy to enjoy the company of anyone, ignoring the implications. Jess was right about that, her strewing confetti about herself, but he was wrong about her not knowing the difference between what matters and colorful paper - she might elect to ignore it occasionally, but she knows. 

Just roommates. She thought she could do that. She tried, but after the fight in the kitchen the other night, no, nearly two weeks ago, it’s clear that they might not have just roommates in them. She can’t even look at him without longing, or being angry, and she doesn’t want to think about what it means that she still wants to stay in spite of that.

Work’s been blissfully crazy, she’s been tired when coming home, but it’s Friday, Saturday technically, and she’s out of excuses, out of functioning facades; If they can’t be friends she has to go. She has to move. 

She pushes herself into action, pulls out a box and opens it, even if her hands feel weak. She could be in Stars Hollow in time for lunch tomorrow. 

She tentatively drops a book into the box and the walls shake. 

It’s the door slamming. Quick, decisive steps pass her door. Jess. By the sound of it alone. Nicks’s door opens with a loud creak. 

She moves closer to the wall separating their rooms, stands facing it. She expects music to start playing, but it doesn’t happen. Instead drawers are pulled out, wardrobe doors opened, and the steps don't sease- He moves around in there. She leans on the wall. Her cheek against its surface. His voice, muffled, but distinctly angry sounds through it. 

She starts walking without meaning to, doesn’t even register it until she’s halfway there. In her pyjamas. Shoot. The door’s open. She peeks inside. He’s jaggedly stuffing clothes into a duffel bag.

“What are you doing?”

He freezes. She half-regrets asking but has to own up to it now. She steps into the doorway. He turns, his eyes quickly scanning her, in her pyjamas. Darn. She presses her lips together.

“I didn’t know you-” He starts.

“You wouldn’t.” She responds, and tries again: “What’s going on?”

His expression goes grim.

“Nicks had the good sense to dump me.”

Her heart beats, hard.

“Why-? I mean-”

He looks at her and she falls quiet, she realizes she’s scared, even if she can’t tell why. She wants to back away but is frozen. He tilts his head, face softer.

“This isn’t your fault.” He says.

She exhales.

“No?”

“It’s mine.” His voice goes sharp.

He shoves the last of his clothes into the bag, and moves over to the bookshelf. He sorts out his books from it, dropping them into his bag. She has to ask.

”What happened?”

He sighs sharply.

”Adam showed-” He interrupts himself, turns and makes eye contact. ”Please tell me you’re not seeing him again.”

”I’m not.” The words can’t wait to leave her mouth.

He takes a breath.

”Good.”

She’s suddenly, groundlessly, wildly happy, but bites down around it.

”Then what?” She manages, slightly robotic, to make up for what she’s feeling.

”He opened his mouth about you.” There’s a pause, and he starts packing books again, like the story is done. ”Apparently my reaction was enough to send Nicks on her way.” He finishes.

She swallows.

“Not my fault, huh?”

He stops mid-motion and fixes her with a stare.

“Just ‘cause something happens because of you doesn’t make it your responsibility. You didn’t ask for this.”

But she wanted this. She bites her lip. He turns back to the bookshelf.

“She’s really kicking you out?”

“Can you blame her?”

“Nothing happened.” She says and feels stupid for it, who is she convincing?

He answers, lower and slower this time.

“Even if that’s true I don’t think it matters.”

Because she wanted this. She remembers the Dance Marathon, it was a thousand years ago, but she still has to remind herself to breathe.

”How are you feeling?” She asks.

He drops another book into his bag, and his shoulders rise and fall in a deliberate breath.

”Empty. Drunk. Bad.”

She leans into a step in his direction.

”Do you want me to-?” She doesn't even know what she’s asking, he responds anyway.

”Better not.”

She freezes.

”Besides, I should get going.”

”It’s midnight.” She objects.

“All the more reason.” 

He hastily looks around the room. He throws the bag over his shoulder and walks towards the door. She follows and catches up halfway through the corridor. She grabs his jacket and makes him stop.

”Jess-”

He turns, the plea clear in his voice. 

”Ror, I gotta go. I did enough damage here.” 

Her fist closes more firmly around his jacket, while she grasps for rhyme and reason.

“Okay, fine, just- just wait a second.” 

He shifts his weight and looks at her. She has no idea what to say even if words are flocking to her mouth, pushing to get out. 

In one swift motion she puts her arms around him, and leans her head on his shoulder. For a couple of solid seconds he’s stiff, still. But then there’s a thud as his duffel bag hits the floor and pressure from his arms as they fold around her waist. It’s quiet, but inside the noise is overwhelming. She’s been wanting to do this all summer and the release of it almost lets her forget why she’s able to. She shouldn’t have done this now, this could take all night. She lets out a trembling sigh and tries to let him go, but his grip around her tightens. His chin rests on her shoulder and she feels his breath in her hair. It’s so good, it pulls her in, time loses all meaning and he gives no indication, no sign of wanting to let go. 

The door. He turns his head, whispers.

“Shit.”

And before she has time to process it he’s grabbed his bag and her, stepping into her room and shutting the door behind them. He lets go of her but doesn’t move further. Steps pass in the corridor and Nicks’s door opens. A voice, Paula’s, is audible, carrying out one side of a telephone conversation.

”It’s gone.” Silence. ”I know, honey.”

Rory and Jess are right by the door, frozen where they entered. They’re facing each other, he’s still holding his bag between them, a barrier. She looks at his face, one inch from hers. She reaches between them and tries to loosen the heavy bag from his firm grip but fails. She settles for keeping one hand around his. 

After a minute the front door opens and shuts again and Nicks’s voice starts bleeding through the wall, mingling with Paula’s. Rory can’t make out the words but it’s clear from their tone what’s going on. Their steps slow outside her room and the muffled voices get lower. She doesn’t dare to breathe as they both live through the moments in the room on the other side of the door. 

Then the steps pass, water runs in the kitchen. Before she has time to react Jess has moved to the middle of the room, his gaze darting between its walls like a trapped bird. The sounds of Nicks and Paula approach again, and Rory leans on the door as they pass, fall away and move into Paula’s room. She turns, cracks the door to look out, but Jess reaches her, pushing it closed.

”Her door is open, I won’t get past it without-” He interrupts himself, lifts his bag. “I’ll just use the fire escape.” 

He heads over to her window, opening it and tossing the bag out on the fire escape. She hurries to his side, grabs his arm.

“Where are you going?” She hisses. 

He takes her hand in an attempt to loosen its grip, she resists.

”Are you gonna spend the night on a bus?”

“I got my car.”

She glares at him. He smiles bleakly at her, seems almost amused at her reaction, the opposite of what she is.

“You can’t drive.” She bites her lip, looks away. “You should stay.”

”I should go, Rory, you know that.”

He finally loosens her grip on him, but she holds onto his hand. You know what you’re doing.

“I don’t think Nicks would want you to punish yourself-” She stops, she really knows nothing about Nicks, so she tries a different tactic, whispers sharply: ”It’s not the first time a couple’s broken up!” She’s afraid of his reaction, so she keeps talking. “And I’m not letting you sleep in your car again.”

He doesn’t move, she has to brace herself to get the words out. 

”I want- I want you to stay.”

She forces her eyes to his face for emphasis. He frowns. They stare at each other for a second, she has no idea how she looks. Loud music starts playing in Paula’s room. He blinks at the sound. He moves, and she goes cold before she registers that he’s reaching for his bag. He pulls it back inside, puts it on the floor. He looks at her and then at their clasped hands, she can’t speak. Her voice will shake. He nods.

“Okay.” He says.

She’s strangely stunned, so unprepared even if she distinctly asked him for this just seconds ago. Luckily he is a man of action. He walks over to her wardrobe opening it and scanning the shelves before picking out sheets. He walks up to the bed, sticking one hand under the mattress.

“Can you manage without this?” He asks.

She nods and he pulls the mattress, fully made, off the bed. It lands on the floor and she bends over to remove the sheets.

“Don’t bother. It’s fine.” He says.

“Really?”

“I just wanna go to bed.”

“Okay.”

He nods and puts the sheets onto the bed. He gestures vaguely over his shoulder.

“I’m just gonna-” 

He walks into the corner, stepping out of his shoes. She makes the bed and tries not to look when he pulls his t-shirt off and steps out of his pants. 

She waits until he’s gotten under the covers on the mattress on the floor, then steps in behind the wardrobe door, swiftly pulling her own pyjama pants off, unbuttoning her shirt, and putting on her tank top instead. She glances down to see how much of her is showing through the thin fabric but doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Instead she hurries back to the bed and gets under the covers of her mattress-less bed. It’s surprisingly soft, but she senses the springs in it and squirms a bit to find the right spot. She notices he’s looking and freezes.

He actually smiles a little.

“Hey, my suggestion meant only one of us had to sleep uncomfortably, I hope you’re happy now.”

”Over the moon.” She says and does her best to sound sarcastic. ”You?”

He doesn’t respond, just turns to his side and strokes his hand down her pillow. His gaze gets stuck on something an inch from his face and he removes one of her hairs and drops it on her floor. She blushes.

“We could just make the mattress with fresh sheets-” She starts.

“I told you it’s fine.” He says.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s more than fine.” 

He pushes his face deeper into her pillow for a second, taking a breath. Her heartbeat gets harder. Then he smiles at her, and it might be the most genuine she’s seen him in weeks, she mirrors it without any reservations. Then she remembers why they’re here.

”Jess.”

”Yeah?”

”What did Adam say?”

He stops smiling.

”Nothing worth repeating.”

She looks at him and he sighs.

“He was talking about you like you might as well be someone else.” 

She frowns.

“So? That’s not so bad.” She snorts. “You know, the last time we went out, he couldn’t stop talking about Nicks, he’s obviously into her.”

Jess sighs.

“Of course he is, everyone is, Adam, Matt, Chris if he could finish the thought.”

“You’re not jealous?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs.

“Paula once let it slip that Nicks was really into me not being that into her.”

“And what are you into?” The question just asks itself like it’s inevitable. 

He fixes her with his gaze.

“You know.”

She shakes her head, embarrassed, stubborn.

“No I don’t.”

He frowns but answers anyhow, almost immediately, voice slightly raised.

“I’m into you!” He takes a shaky breath. ”I thought that was obvious.” 

She feels like crying, it takes her by surprise.

“Why would it be obvious?” She whispers.

For a second he looks like he’s been struck by lightning. He blinks and his lips fall apart, he’s clearly processing. Meanwhile she swallows down the lump in her throat as best she can. 

“You’re right.” He says. “It’s just-” He rolls onto his back, looks away. “-all I have ringing in my head these days, hard to believe no one else can hear it.” He closes his eyes, his fists, and when he speaks his words are evenly paced like he’s beating them out. ”I’m jealous of Adam because he can do what he does, just be with someone he considers anyone.” He gestures. “I’ve wished it could be anyone else but you for so long. I can’t even-” There’s a pause before he mumbles the last words. “-fantasize about anyone else.”

She’s too warm, and at once intensely grateful that there’s distance between them while still wishing to close it. She reaches her hand towards him, hesitates before stroking his cheek. He opens his eyes at the touch and takes her hand.

That settles it.

”I’m getting next to you.” She mumbles.

It’s not a request and she follows it by getting on the floor beside him, and it’s like things go quiet down there. You know what you’re doing. He turns his face to her, scooches over obediently and makes room for her. He lifts his blanket and lets it down over her. She lays on her back also, shoulder to shoulder with him. It’s soft and firm and she looks at the ceiling where the lights from traffic mixes with light of the day to come. She glances at the watch, so late it's early.

“This is nice.” She breathes.

“Yeah.” 

He stretches out his arm and scoops her up with it, so she’s leaning her head on his shoulder, just like that, a move of comforting intimacy. He’s warm, smells nice, familiar. Still, never like this. She realizes that this is as close as they’ve ever been; Both of them only in their underwear, in bed together, skin on skin. Her heart races and she almost jerks when he speaks, easier than before.

”When I was a kid, me and Liz lived in this weird two room apartment. It was one of those that used to be bigger but was chopped off into smaller pieces to fit more families, so it had all these nooks and crannies that made no sense.” He uses his free arm to gesture as he speaks, she looks at his hand as if it were a paintbrush. “Anyway, she had me in the separate bedroom until she met this guy who made a living buying up large stocks of, anything really, and selling it off for more money. He’d regularly need to store it somewhere so I had to give up my bedroom, but Liz had a rubber foam mattress that she cut out to fit on the floor of this crooked walk in closet in the living room, and made a bed for me there.” 

A physical memory is triggered by his story - from the shed at the Independence Inn, her and Lorelai’s only room; Her first own bed was in the space where they used to keep garden tools, Lorelai consequently referred to it as the alcove after they moved, until it became one in her memory. It was too small to grow in, but big enough for a toddler, she remembers the feeling of the walls against her head. Jess goes on: 

“I was about six or seven at the time, I got that it was a demotion, but I kinda liked the place.” There’s a smile in his voice. “I’d lie there, smell the clothes and listen to everything going on in the apartment. Liz never ran a child-proof ship but… it still felt safe being close like that.”

She swallows, reaches her arm across his torso, resting it against his shoulder.

“I think that’s the first nice thing you’ve ever told me about your life with your mom.”

He breathes in, her head rising with his chest.

“It’s never all good or all bad.”

“Kinda like this.” 

She turns her head to see his face. He looks back.

“I’m on the floor, but next to you.”

“You’re broken up.” She says.

He nods, and reaches to stroke her temple, down to her cheek, following his fingers with his eyes. 

“It really frustrates me sometimes,” he mumbles, “things never being pure.”

Her mouth is dry, she presses her forehead to his shoulder and speaks anyway.

“I think pure’s overrated, I think nothing means anything until it’s mixed with something else. Everything needs a point of reference, to make sense.”

Her jaw is trembling, she presses her lips together to make it stop. He rolls over onto his side facing her, puts his hands around her head and puts his forehead to hers. She looks at him, he closes his eyes and speaks with his slow deliberate voice again.

“I was on my own for a long time. It’s not nice, but pure. That’s why I had trouble with you. I wasn’t built to hold what I felt, so I had to make modifications especially fitted for you and after- they were just these useless constructions.” He opens his eyes. “You broke my heart. Before we even got together, when we were, and after, just, constantly.” He takes a trembling breath. “It still beats just about everything else. How do you make sense of something like that?”

She grips his shoulder, not sure if she’s holding him or herself steady.

“I don’t know.” She manages. “I guess it depends on what kind of sense you’re looking to make of it.” She takes a breath. “When we were together- I needed things to fit back then, because I knew where I was going but- now I feel like nothing makes sense except you, and I know it’s horrible, and I’m a horrible person for feeling… elated right now.” Her voice falls away.

She looks at him. Their eyes meet and she watches his gaze trail her face. She almost feels it on her skin, it looks like a caress. There’s nothing she can say. Her mind is too busy absorbing everything, and her body is busy raging; Her heart is pounding, it’s in her jaws, throat, belly, thighs. She’s still holding onto his shoulder. He looks spent, open, she gets the distinct thought she only needs to make one move to set everything in motion. 

She knows it’ll be good, that’s not it. It’s that it’ll be so much more. Whenever they see each other it’s a reminder of what is always there, what doesn’t change. It’s not residue, or a phantom limb, it was never like that with them. He was the first guy she wanted and he left, and it was like she knew it going in. She wanted him and he went away but not the feeling. She had to cover it up with something else as quickly as she could bear. Make it too late. But it didn’t work, and that she knows now, that’s why she’s scared. 

Being loved was simple, pleasant. Doing the loving herself… It wasn’t what she’d expected. Strange how something that came from her, that she chose to do, could come out so feral, unpredictable, chaotic. It wasn’t that he was a stranger, it was that she was, to herself. 

She can make the move, and everything can happen, anything can happen. She wants it, and she doesn’t want it. Any second it’ll be inevitable. And it’ll be real but far from perfect. She looks away, tries speaking but has to clear her throat. 

“Hey, have you read...?”

She was sure she had an actual question, but maybe that was just her desperation talking. Forget the dragon, leave the gun on the table, this has nothing to do with happiness. He just looks at her, serious. Then he takes a breath that looks like it hurts.

“I’m tired.”

“We could try and sleep.”

“Not the kind of tired I’m talking about.”

She stops breathing.

“Rory,” he only says, then again: “Rory.”

The pull has her. She puts her hands to his face and kisses him, softly. His hands close around the back of her head before anything, holding her in place, then he kisses her back like he’s already knee deep in it, like he’s been waiting for it forever. She’s taken by how much she’s been wanting it too, and how hard she’s denied it, how she can’t anymore. She makes a sound when it overwhelms her. He pulls back and shushes against her mouth, she nods urgently and keeps kissing him. 

It’s slow at first, lips brushing, caressing each other, it has to be slow, she thinks, or it’ll be too fast, falling. So, she paces herself, holds him close, lets it come back in every breath. It’s partly muscle memory, cogs in an old machine starting to turn again, she’s two years younger, struck by vertigo in Truncheon, she’s three, four years younger, taken by his kisses in couches, street corners, on top of her, his bed, at the Inn, everywhere they could think to, everywhere. They’re kissing for the long haul like they used to, with the kissing being everything they would do, so that was everything, and it could go on forever. It’s everything falling back into place, everything feeling right again.

Then it’s now, and they’re breathing deeper, and they’re not teenagers anymore, but wielding the magic all the same, and she knows exactly how to kiss him to drive him crazy, to drive herself out of her own busy mind. So she does. Turns her head and pries his mouth open, and pulls at his hair in the neck inching closer. He follows her cue and leans his body on hers. His breath is on the side of her face, his hands around her head, his lips move against hers, his tongue in her mouth. 

They keep kissing and thing after thing falls away from them. The past and even the present. They keep kissing until there’s only that. They’re on the floor but don’t know why. She loses track of time. Breathes quickly. She holds back sounds, without remembering why. And then, it’s all gone. There’s just them at the center of the world, they’re its core of skin and tongue, lips and teeth, hands and muted sounds of them crashing into each other. 

Then it’s clear that they’ve grown passed kissing until their lips are chapped. They could possibly have gone on fooling themselves, but she pulls at him to get closer so he rolls on top of her, and pushes her legs apart, rocking her with his body. Needing more is like a sledgehammer to her, and she’s all ache all at once. The entire summer catches up with her, as well as her prior longing, he was the first guy she wanted. Her legs start to shake. She rips her mouth from his and gasps, her heartbeat is trying to break her apart one pulse at a time. She manages some sort of primitive thought that feels more like muscle memory and reaches for the drawer in her bedside table and picks out a condom. He reacts at her movement and looks at her, half lost in the haze first, and then increasingly sober as he fixes his gaze on what she’s holding. He’s panting, but still frowns at her, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. She’s too far gone to be ashamed. 

He takes it from her, drops it next to the mattress. He leans on an elbow and lets his free hand rest over her clavicle for a few seconds. She’s anxious and her voice twists in her throat looking for a way out. Then he strokes his hand down her body, his gaze in tow. It’s slow and he’s a cruel, cruel man, so she arches her back, pushing her chest and tummy to his hand. He actually makes a sound at that and she has to look at him to see that he’s laughing, or something like it. His lips are pulled back in a strange, absent smile, he looks up at her and his eyes are black. She swallows, but smiles back at him, tilting her hip a little upward into his, he gasps and stops smiling. He slides his hand up under her top over her breast. She can’t help a little sound but turns it into a whisper, words meant to command come out more like a plea instead:

”Come on.”

She reaches down to touch him, strokes her hand over the surface of his boxers, feeling warmth and hardness. He breathes sharply again and takes her hand stroking it up the length of him, turning it over and lacing his fingers together with hers, pinning it down next to the pillow. He puts his face to hers and nods slightly.

”Alright.”

He gets on his knees and helps her pull off her top. When she’s on her back again he drags his hands down her body, grabs onto her waist, squeezing slightly, then on to the rim of her panties and hooks his fingers into it. He looks at her and she gets it, they can stop, they’ve been standing on this precifice for years, they could stay here, it doesn’t have to be real and far from perfect, but her body won’t let her head take the wheel now.

”It’s too late.” She whispers incoherently.

He swallows, nods, and pulls off her underwear. She’s bare and can’t look at him, it’s too much. But then she has to since he isn’t moving. He’s watching her, expression impossible. She’s the one who has to be brave. She sits up and wraps her arms around him finding his mouth with hers. Then she leans back pulling him on top of her sliding her hands down his body and pushing his boxers off with them. She keeps kissing him to stay tethered to some kind of conscious action. He rips his lips from hers moments later anyway and leans on the side of her stroking his hand down her body. He reaches her hip, and laughs shakily and she looks to his face, he looks at her, dazed.

“I don’t know what you like.” He sounds surprised, like he hadn’t considered it.

“I think you do.” She mumbles.

“Tell me.” He whispers.

She shakes in quiet laughter, or maybe it’s something else.

“Well, I don’t know what I’ll like with you. Probably everything.”

He takes a breath like he’s bracing himself, and she almost perishes at the thought of him fantasizing about this, imagining what she’d like. Then he slides between her legs and his fingers stroke her thigh all the way up and into her. She holds back a sound by biting her lip. He’s looking at her, attentively, and she’s full of laughter at the thought of him reading her, like a book. Then it stops being anything but what it’s meant to be and she buries her face in his chest, choking back her sounds. He touches her slowly until he figures out what makes her go. His attention clearly pays off and she has trouble keeping it together. She throws her head back and whimpers, lips pressed together. He answers her call and kisses her to muffle the sound, holding her still with his weight.

There are noises from Paula’s room. The LP player scratches as the record is changed, and a new type of base starts humming through the wall. It’s a reminder of their presence, the situation, and her heart skips a beat when she makes deliberate eye contact with him. The room is light. The sun rises early, so early it’s still late, but she hadn’t thought about it up until now, being stuck in their own twilight. He looks at her, chest rising and falling, he’s heard it too, and it’s woken him up. They see each other clearly, real and far from perfect.

She swallows and waits for his reaction despite aching with wanting him. He moves slowly, firmly, reaches for the package he dropped on the floor earlier, opens it and puts it on. Nicks’s and Paula’s voices are heard through the wall in what could initially be read as crying but is probably laughter, Paula’s doing her best friend duty very well. It’s clear that he hears them from his serious expression, but he gets back on top of her anyway. He looks at her and she can’t protect herself by disappearing, not now. They only have each other to hold onto in this. He leans in and kisses her with his eyes open, and is inside her all at once. She gasps into his mouth and he starts moving.

It’s not usually like this for her. She’s used to the comfort of soft mattresses, dimmed lights, a possibility to float away, to be alone in herself. Now she’s feeling everything at once and can’t filter out anything. The firmness of the floor through the mattress is chafing her back, sticking it’s hard fingers along her spine, and knocking the air from her lungs, but it’s too good to stop, so she tenses her muscles instead and pushes back against him, wrapping her legs around his hips and lifting her torso toward him. 

More sounds leak through the wall from Paula’s room, furniture dragged over floor, perhaps they’re changing the sleeping arrangements in there.

“Like this?” He asks her hoarsely.

She doesn’t trust her voice to answer, just nods and kisses him, feeling like crying a bit. 

He halts a few moments later, shaking, so she pushes at him to move them over. She winds up on top, but curves her back, leaning down over him like a willow. He looks soft and strokes her face, placing her hair behind her ear. She hazily smiles at him before straightening her back. 

She’s doing the moving now and he holds onto her waist, her breast. She looks at his face and it’s spectacular from lust and reverence. His breaths whisper through the air, and she’s doing her best to hold onto her own, uneven and raging in her throat. She bites the inside of her cheek, pressing her lips together to keep them in check. 

These are their circumstances, the only ones they’re allowed, it is what it is. Once she accepts that she gets to feel everything, the ambiguity, her point of reference, but the full width of what they’re doing too. How she’s wanted it since she learned how to want. She’s been so angry with him, so desperately frustrated with everything they lost, mourning that which they didn’t get a chance to say, trying to keep it civil and protect the friendship, that term is too small for them anyway. Now it’s too late to pretend that they’re anything but what they are, that’s what she meant before, and she’s rampantly happy realizing it. Her knees hurt but doesn’t stop her from falling over the edge. 

She climaxes and loses it. At first she thinks it’s just a whimper escaping her, then she hears the words.

”I love you.”

Her heart flutters when she hears herself. She didn’t mean to say it, thought she was beyond words, but she means it, there’s never been anything more obvious to say to him.

His eyes widen and then immediately shut as his grip tightens around her, and he follows. She wilts down over him again to be as close as possible when it happens. His voice is in his breathing, a tone that makes her moan in response. He kisses her, holds her close through his convulsions. 

Now she’s floating, she doesn’t know for how long. Then he awkwardly inches out from under her and rids himself of the condom. She rolls herself into the blanket while he does, then holds a corner out for him when he turns back to her. He gets under it and lies with his forehead to hers, hand stroking her body up and down. She shivers, and it’s as much from pleasure as exhaustion. 

She closes her eyes and feels herself drifting off, floating again, as he moves her onto his side, with her temple to his clavicle. She registers his heartbeat slowing. She’s blissfully spent and feels her own in her entire body and how it wanes from her resting. 

Instead of fading into darkness she fades into light as the sun rises. She hears his breathing, and faint voices from the neighboring rooms, and traffic on the street outside. She sleeps, or something like it.

She feels his body move, his hand on her face, her eyes flutter open and their faces are an inch apart. She makes a little sound, a greeting, an emotion. He strokes his face to hers, reaches her mouth and kisses her, hungrily. It’s an electric shock: they’re naked together. She catches on and goes for matching his fervor, swings from one drift to another kind. His hands caresses, squeezes and pinches her and he rolls on top of her. She’s about to lose herself again when there’s a knock at the door. 

In an instant she’s back in the situation, their circumstances. They’re on the floor because he can’t stay next door because he just broke up with his girlfriend, like, hours ago. He’s back too, it’s clear. His eyes are serious, and he seems pale, tired. She doesn’t know why she looks at the watch, it makes no difference what time it is. It’s seven o’clock.

“Rory?” Nicks’s low voice leaks through the door.

Jess opens his mouth but makes no sound, she can’t do anything.

“Sorry to bother you this early.” Nicks continues.

Jess looks away and silently, eerily effectively loosens himself from her. She has to answer. She clears her throat.

“What is it?” She’s just buying time.

Jess is in his pants now and gathers the rest of his loose items, picking up his bag, backing towards the fire escape.

“We should probably talk.” Nicks sounds embarrassed, but resolved.

“Okay, just- gimme a sec.” She replies but can’t seem to get tone into her voice.

She gets up. She’s naked, funny how that means something completely different now than a few moments ago. He looks at her. She steps into her crumbled up panties, and gets hold of the tank top she usually sleeps in. She slips into it. He opens the window and lifts out his bag onto the staircase.

Their eyes meet before he climbs out of the window and she turns to the door. 

She doesn’t have time to clear the room, so she doesn’t open the door all the way, just cracks it open and peeks out. Nicks is outside, just inches away, there’s no way to get out of making eye contact. The air starts moving even through the small crack in the door as the best draft in the apartment on summer days forms. There was no time for closing the window.

Nicks looks at her for a beat, then away.

“I’m gonna assume you know what happened.” Pause. “You don’t have to answer.”

She might not have to, but her head scrambles to, anyway, she settles for a nod. Nicks looks at her, properly this time, frowns slightly, then lifts her chin.

“He in there?” Her tone is curt.

Rory has to look away to shake her head, technically not a lie doesn’t seem to work for her now. There’s silence. The floorboards creak as Nicks shifts her weight, sighs. Rory meets her eyes.

”I’ll move out.” Rory offers.

Nicks nods.

”It’s probably for the best.” 

She looks away, then turns to leave. Rory doesn’t know why she feels like speaking.

”I’ve liked living here. It hasn’t been the best days of my life, but I’ve liked the place.”

Nicks stops and nods without looking back.

Rory hurries back into her room. Not her room. Nicks’s room. Nicks’s empty room, the window left ajar. She walks up to the window anyway, looks outside. The sidewalk, the street looks like every other morning, cars, a couple of people passing, but nothing else of consequence. She turns back, turns around and catches her image in the mirror hung on the inside of the door and everything comes back to her. She sees everything that happened last night, hours ago, minutes ago. Her hair is on end, one cheek redder than the other, her lips too, and her knees. Also, her top is see-through. Her chest burns and it takes her by surprise, the shame. I’m the dragon. Just hours ago it was irrelevant, non-existing. The harsh light of day, now there’s an expression. All her intentions from the past weeks suddenly kick into action and she tears out one of the boxes stacked behind the bookcase. If she hurries she can be packed up in an hour. She could be in Stars Hollow in time for lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paraphrased poetry by Richard Siken “Litany in which certain things are crossed out” again.  
> Also I'm not sure how much time the final chapter needs in terms of editing; It might be a week 'til the finale update.


	12. The Polysyllabic [Deg]ree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rory learns and Jess graduates.

**August 16, 2008**

It takes longer than she thought it would. Packing up her stuff goes quickly, but then the apartment is full of people and she can’t get out without running into someone, so she’s stuck in her room for almost an hour before working up the courage. Thankfully, Mark is the only one left at that point, and he helps her carry a couple of boxes without comment, but tells her to stay in touch. 

When she finally gets going she feels dizzy and remembers she hasn’t eaten since yesterday. She stops at a roadside diner just north of the city forcing down breakfast food early in the afternoon. Then, when she’s ready to leave it hits her that she hasn’t told Lorelai she’s coming, so she stays, stirring her cold coffee just thinking about what to tell her mother, without reaching a decision. When she gets back in the car traffic is horrible. 

She arrives in Stars Hollow early evening. She parks the car in the driveway and sits still in her seat for a while. She hasn’t fixed herself up at all, and looks eerily like her mother’s first day accompanying her to Chilton, in her denim shorts and tank top, but with a bra under this time. Her mother steps out onto the porch as she turns off the engine. Lorelai holds out her arms, tilts her head. Rory exits the car.

“Hi mom.”

“Hi hun.” Lorelai walks toward her. “What’s up?”

Rory opens the trunk of the car, no use trying to hide it, but making a big deal out of it won’t help either.

“I’m back.”

Lorelai raises her eyebrows.

“I can tell. What are you doing back?”

Rory’s silent, still. On the outside. On the inside she’s a mess of everything she felt the last twenty four hours. She doesn’t look at her mother but keeps her gaze locked to her overnight bag. She reaches for it, and swallows down as much as she can muster.

“I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

Lorelai nods quietly. Rory squints at her. So unlike her to just take no for an answer, unless… She already has an idea of what’s going on. Shoot. Rory stifles a sigh. Lorelai picks out one of the boxes from the trunk.

“I just started watching a movie. You want ice cream?”

Rory nods and follows Lorelai inside, leaving the rest of her boxes in the car.

**August 17, 2008**

When she wakes up the day after she’s still exhausted. For a long while she just lies there considering staying that way before remembering that tomorrow is Monday.

She calls Charlie and quits, claiming personal reasons, too tired and disoriented to feel truly bad about it. She turns off her phone and gets up. Sunlight plays its way through the windows and she frowns at it, she is so sick of sunshine. 

The house is empty. Luke is at work, and Lorelai has left a note saying she is needed at the Inn because Michel is sick. The kitchen is significantly better equipped since Luke has started living here, and Rory gathers the making of a simple breakfast and heads for the couch. 

She stays there all day, and watches old favorite movies, like this is all her scrumptious choice, a treat. Between movies and on bathroom breaks during which she doesn’t look in the mirror, she feels like shit. It matters less here, where few facades are necessary, but still. 

Luke comes home and gets started on dinner. Lorelai comes home too, and sits down next to her on the couch for the last minutes of Reality Bites. The credits are rolling when Lorelai speaks.

“I’m gonna assume this is about Jess.”

Rory glances at her phone, still turned off. I’m the dragon.

“I’ll neither confirm nor deny that is the case.” She mumbles. “Mind justifying your assumption?”

“This is not about me, missy.” Lorelai says, with a little edge to her tone. “What happened?”

“Same thing that always happens with us.”

Lorelai sighs, seems unsatisfied, but Luke says dinner is ready.

**August 20, 2008**

Lorelai leaves the serious conversations be. She’s learned from their big clash a couple of years ago, and gives Rory space. But it won’t last forever. Not that it matters, this is just temporary, even if that phrase is starting to lose all its meaning. 

It’s comforting to be home in a way. But after about two days she gets restless and not just for lack of things to do. She still helps out at the Dragonfly, fills in for Michel. The work is mainly at the reception while Lorelai runs around dealing with a variety of things. It’s been years since Rory’s helped out at The Independence Inn, but she remembers how it’s done, and the booking system is much easier to handle these days. It’s not the most interesting work she’s ever done but she enjoys it, and snickers a little to herself over how upset Lorelai would be if she announced this as her new career. 

Then she stops smiling as the thought from weeks ago finds her again: She’s good at most things, good for anything, might make a great assistant, in herself not meant for anything in particular. Might as well be someone else. She’s settling in for another session of feeling like general crap, but then she hears Jess’s voice in her head, clearer than the humdrum she’s told herself the last few days, weeks, months; Changing your mind doesn’t change who you are. She feels the response in her entire body. And then she answers him. What am I then? Something else. She takes a deep breath and chews on her lip.

Lorelai herself doesn’t seem understimulated by her job, but calm and happy and in the moment of every little thing that keeps her busy. Cool with the chaos of the universe, finally. Possibly because it’s hers, this, the place, the business, automatic investment. She’s at the counter on hold, waiting to order flowers and Rory looks at her.

“Mom.”

“Yeah?”

“What would you have done if you hadn’t worked as an Innkeeper?”

Lorelai turns to her, smiles, thinks for a few seconds.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’d have run a diner.”

“You like to eat food, not cook it!” Rory remarks.

“Gosh darn it you’re right!” Lorelai laughs.

Rory tries again.

“Well?”

“Well.” Lorelai taps her chin with her finger. “Emily probably would have been most comfortable with me living my life like she did, and dad, he probably thought I should do something a bit more adventurous, something to keep me busy, but I think if he had been able to go out and buy me a model-life he would’ve.”

She falls quiet and smiles while considering her own words. Rory sighs.

“But I mean if you could pick anything else regardless of... everything, or anyone.”

Lorelai thinks about it, sways a little to the waiting music on her line.

“Well... Then I guess I would’ve wanted to do what you’re doing; the journalism thing.”

Rory smiles at her even if the words land like a punch, and she makes herself busy shuffling paper. Lorelai finally gets a hold of someone and dives into the conversation.

Rory hasn’t been able to forget it hours later when walking home. Lorelai’s dream. Isn’t an aha-moment supposed to make you feel better? Probably not. There are those that just confirm what you feared too. Your purpose is out there, running wild, a separate unknown entity, knowing you better than you know yourself. It might pounce you, possess you, or worse, leave you be.

Luke goes to bed early that night in preparation for the first shift, and Lorelai stays up with Rory watching one really bad TV movie. Her mother talks a mile a minute, until about halfway through when she picks up the remote.

”That’s it.” She hits pause. ”You haven’t said a word all night, and your penalty is you tell me what happened in New York.”

Shoot. Rory thought she had kept up with the conversation. She’s really in no position to address what Lorelai wants her to in any honest way. She hasn't looked at it properly yet.

”You can say what you mean.” She mutters.

Nice move, establishing her of all people as the straight shooter.

”Fine. What happened with Jess?”

Rory steels herself. 

”Him and Nicks broke up.” She starts hesitantly.

”Over you?”

She doesn’t dare look at Lorelai, remembers all too well the last time they had a conversation of this kind. But that might actually be to her advantage, putting Lorelai off enough to leave her alone for a while longer. She takes a deep breath, lifts her head and looks at her mother.

”We slept together.” 

Lorelai flinches and Rory forces herself to keep going.

”After they broke up, but still.”

Lorelai looks like a deer in headlights trying to talk down the car.

“So… good?” She seems far from ready to know, but she did ask.

Rory clenches her jaw and goes on. 

“I told him I loved him, he climbed down a fire escape and hasn’t been heard from since.”

Except in her head. Lorelai actually snorts, but gets it together when Rory glares at her.

”So, not good?” She says.

She shoots Rory a tight apologetic smile and puts a hand on her arm. Then she picks up the remote and hits play. Rory is grateful Lorelai doesn’t ask further. Her phrasing was angled, and she knows it. It’s pretty clear to her why he hasn’t called. Heck, she might’ve done the same thing, if the roles were reversed. She hasn’t in fact called either and is nowhere ready to think about why. Just, every story that taught her more than she’d like to know about herself has him in it. She dreams about them that night, like her talking about it summoned the dream, they’re at Truncheon, two years ago, but touching each other like they did five nights ago. She says she loves him, it’s chaos.

**August 25, 2008**

Michel gets back to work, and Rory picks up shifts so the cleaning lady Marge has time to visit her family in New Hampshire. It helps, being tired for physical reasons at the end of the day. The shifts run into the evenings. On Monday she’s about to head back to the house when her mother texts her; “We’re out of Pop-Tarts! Get some, but be sneaky when you get back, I have a special stash for them.” Rory chuckles and heads for Doose’s. It’s first when she gets there she becomes aware that she’s avoided it. 

She and Dean haven't spoken two words since that night at her grandparents. To say it ended badly is just so insufficient, and they both worked hard to have it work out that way. She’s thought about it to no end and traced it back to her second guessing herself as soon as they broke up at the Dance Marathon. In hindsight, it's plain to her that it drained all the joy they ever shared from their relationship and then they went on pretending some more before just giving up. It’s also plain that her doing so ruined things between her and Jess a little too, there was always something wrong. She sighs. At least she can see clearly now. But it hasn’t stopped her from potentially going down the same path with Jess now. For a second she loves him intensely for not calling, for staying away.

“Rory Gilmore?”

She almost jumps out of her skin before gaining composure enough to turn toward the voice. The woman is older, smaller, hair gray, but the same sharp face and old fashioned clothing as when they knew each other; It’s her old English teacher. Rory smiles, a bit embarrassed, but happy.

“Miss Milton.” She reaches for a handshake and the older woman takes it, her hand gaunty, cool. “Nice to see you.”

“You too.” Miss Milton smiles her unaffected smile, that made some classmates call her names, but always calmed Rory. “Back for a visit?”

“Not intentionally…” Her voice fades.

Miss Milton nods.

“That happens.”

“What are you doing here?” Rory asks, suddenly remembering that Miss Milton lives in Woodbridge. “It’s weeks ‘til the first day of school.”

Miss Milton glances in the direction of Stars Hollow High.

“I like to get started before everyone else, that way I get to be the calm one when everyone is scrambling with preparation the days before. I like to be rested on my first day with the kids.”

Rory remembers. At Chilton, Yale, most teachers were like that, seemingly unaffected by anything external, at Stars Hollow High teachers were more likely to be a bit frayed around the edges.

“So, what are you up to these days?” Miss Milton asks.

Rory blinks at the question and wishes she would have steered the conversation better.

“Uhm… I’m kind of a writer between jobs at the moment.”

To her surprise, Miss Milton smiles widely.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! I always loved your writing.” 

It’s a memory that goes from vague to clear in that instant. She was bored at Stars Hollow High, always ahead of everyone with her work, and had time and time to spare. Miss Milton would give her bonus work, extra assignments-

“Those stories you used to make up, and the poetry!”

She’d enroll her into competitions. She even won one, now that she thinks about it, but it was right around the time she got accepted into Chilton and it just sort of, got lost in everything else.

“Actually I’m more of a journalist.” Rory says, a bit lost in thought.

Miss Milton raises her eyebrows, like she wouldn’t have thought of it.

“Oh. Well that’s nice too.”

They smile at each other in silence for a few seconds. Miss Milton reaches out and pats her shoulder. 

“I have to get back, it’s late, and I still have tons to do tonight.”

“Of course, it was nice to see you,” Rory repeats, shaking her head. “Good luck this year.”

“I’m beyond luck at this point, but thank you.”

“Goodbye.”

Rory remains in her spot while Miss Milton pays for her microwave dinner, to not crowd her, and walks home slowly after that, shrouded in thoughts she hasn’t had for nearly ten years.

**August 27, 2008**

She can’t sleep properly. She’s been working, she’s even layed off the coffee late at night. But she dreams about him, the only thing making sense to her. She wakes up feeling like she figured something out but it’s four in the morning and still no rhyme or reason. She’s tired, but can’t bear going back to sleep. She gets up. 

It’s a while later and she’s halfway through an episode of Buffy. Later during the day she’s signed up to work her last shift before Marge comes back, and after that there’s just darkness and possibly some dragons. So I’m the dragon, big deal. 

The staircase creaks and Lorelai descends them. She stops at the final step and looks at Rory for a moment before decisively grabbing the remote and turning off the TV.

“”Hey-” Rory reaches for the remote.

“Hey yourself.” Lorelai tilts her head and sits down in the armchair facing the couch. “Look. I’m not saying you gotta be at the top of your game but I’ve heard a thing or two about your time at the pool house, and you and TV at odd hours just… freaks me out.”

Rory leans back into the couch.

“What’s going on with you?” Lorelai asks.

After days of feeling numb Rory’s throat gets thick. She tries to force an answer but fails. Lorelai goes on:

“It’s been two weeks. You haven’t tried figuring this out? You haven’t made a list?”

“What list should I make? He had a girlfriend, there was only meant to be one column; Don’t.” She takes a sharp breath before continuing to spill. “Maybe that’s my problem. I’m just stuck trying to come to terms with the fact that I’m an-” her voice breaks- “awful human being. Some chaos entity. Things were fine, then I came along. Now they’re broken up, he’s moved out, the room I used to live in is empty, and- It wasn’t even my first time doing this, like- what is it about me? I don’t wanna be this thing. I-”

“Woah, woah!” Lorelai gets up and sits down next to her.

“And don’t you dare try to make me feel better about it, just don’t! Because I know how you feel about it, and I listened, and you were right-”

“I was wrong.” 

Rory turns to Lorelai, frowns, stunned.

“I was wrong to say those things to you, like that, then and there.” Lorelai pauses and the words start sinking into Rory. “I should have been kinder to you, but... I panicked, and was too harsh, and it just hurt you, it didn’t teach you anything good.” Lorelai sighs. “Plus I conveniently forgot that I’ve done what you did, and worse, before that and after, so, maybe I was really yelling at myself, but y’know, it didn’t help me either, didn’t change me.”

She takes a deep breath, puts an arm around Rory’s shoulders. The touch burns, but Rory can’t bear for it to stop, tears start rolling down her face, just like that, they’ve been needing to. Lorelai rocks her slightly for a few moments, before going on speaking.

“And I just don’t think it’s that simple anymore, set in stone. More like; If you live a good life, it’s easy to forget, forgive others, yourself. You let yourself change. And anything anyone did to you is just not relevant anymore. If you’re unhappy you second guess yourself, and you can’t let anything go.” 

Rory sniffles, twists a little in Lorelai’s grip, more than a little uncomfortable at how much her mother sounds like Jess, just, wordier. She doesn’t like the reminder and definitely not from Lorelai.

“So, there’s no right or wrong, good or bad?” She wipes her cheeks in a jagged motion. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“No. Those things are real, but it’s complicated-”

“Please.” Rory has a hard time handling her tone, too much pent up panic, but Lorelai matches her in sharpness:

“Hey! Sitting on your hands just because you don’t like the options, or because the decisions are hard to make doesn’t free you of consequences. You make choices, and deal with the results, that’s how stuff gets sorted. And there are loads of other categories besides just right and wrong. That’s how it’s complicated.” Lorelai leans back in the couch, and the annoyance surrounding her fades some. “Do yourself a favor and rethink what bad and good means, especially when it comes to people, and think about what kind of story you’re telling.”

“This is real life.” Rory objects.

“Yeah, but it’s your life, yours.” Lorelai shakes her head. “I hate to be a bad mom or whatever but stuff like this… happens all the time.”

“And that makes it okay?”

Lorelai tilts her head from one side to the other like she’s balancing a scale.

“Did you behave accordingly with the ideal moral code? No. You should try to not do that again. But it’s not the end of the world either. And anyone who tries to make it that way is out to get you.” She points a finger at Rory. “Listen, when you’re older, like with kids and stuff it’s recommendable that you’re able to communicate well enough to not wind up in that situation but like, at your age, it’s almost mandatory.”

Rory lets out a chuckle of sheer disbelief.

“You’re an insane person.”

“It’s five in the morning, what do you expect?” Lorelai yawns suddenly, like her saying the words were all it took for it to catch up with her. “And, look at it this way, the fact that I did it, did it turn me into a horrible person that you could never forgive?”

Rory swallows.

“No.”

“And that Jess was in this with you, do you think less of him for it?”

“No. But I-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re little miss perfect so you gotta do better than everyone, but you’re not the one who cheated. According to the letter of the law you did nothing wrong. Heck, technically it wasn’t even cheating.”

“A technicality! You’re the devil’s advocate.”

Lorelai shrugs.

“You gotta draw the line somewhere.” She pauses. “Lemme ask you something; Have you ever cheated on a boyfriend?” 

“You know I have!”

“With whom?”

Jess. Rory doesn’t say it out loud, but Lorelai apparently doesn’t need her to.

“The reason you don’t think any less of me, or him... when love’s involved everything’s fair, or unfair, but the fact that you continue to break rules for this person - that’s not nothing.”

Rory wants to object, but doesn’t, because Lorelai’s word, faulty or not, trumps that. That’s how love’s involved, what they have in each other; a baseline, a reality of their own. She straightens in her seat and wipes her cheeks.

“So you need to stop punishing yourself now, ya hear?”

Rory nods quickly.

“I’m not even sure this is what my story is about, right now anyway.” She sighs shakily. “I always knew exactly where I was headed.”

“And now?”

“Now I gotta figure out something new, something else, but I don’t know where to start.” She has to take a breath. “It was all this chain: I started Chilton so I could get into Yale so I could study journalism so I could do this thing that I’ve sort of been doing now, I’ve arrived, but I don’t feel any different.”

“You mean you didn’t magically turn into someone different?”

Rory stares at her. Lorelai goes on.

“There are other ways to be a writer than to be a journalist, there are other things besides foreign affairs that are important.” Her tone is light, like it’s nothing, what she’s saying. “You’ve got plenty of options.”

Rory feels stupid.

“That doesn’t sound too bad when you say it like that.”

“Right?” Lorelai smiles. “So where does New York- Sorry- Jess fit into all of this?”

“Stop asking all these impossible questions!” Rory growls. “I haven’t let myself think about that.”

But the feeling of loving him is back. Everyone was always going on about how great Dean was, so willing to be part of her world, only she didn’t need more parts to her world, they all seemed so utterly dependent on her while simultaneously having nothing to do with her. Jess had his own life to mismanage, he left, and that hurt, her heart and her pride. Reminded her of how big and bad it was, the world. How vast. Back then it scared her, made her crawl back to safety. It wasn’t about going back for love, it was about correcting an error, i should have never made that decision, may I retake the test? Now, him being gone, quiet, reminds her she can breathe. You know we’re meant to be together. How does he fit in to all of this? Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe that’s the point. He’s not a puzzle piece but a whole person. 

“Why do you keep bringing him up, anyway? I thought you hated him.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“Since when?”

Lorelai shifts in her seat, leans back a little.

“You know when you were snowed in at O’Hare?”

“Last christmas?”

“Yeah. Me and Luke went to Liz’s for dinner on Christmas Eve. Jess was there. And, you know I’m chatty but TJ and Liz put me to shame.” She chuckles. “I guess I just noticed how quiet he is. TJ gave him a hard time, like it was all fun and games, and he just, took it. And Liz defended him, but not really, y’know, more like a slap on the wrist for TJ, like it wasn’t for Jess’s benefit, but for the banter.” Lorelai looks far away, like she’s back in the moment. “And he was holding Doula. Really carefully, awkwardly, and it struck me; he’s just a kid. I never thought of him that way.” She taps her fingers on the armrest. “My mom thought of me like a pawn for the longest time, it took me leaving for her to figure out she couldn’t do that anymore. I don’t think Liz learnt a thing.”

“What happened?”

“I just- I felt bad. So I asked him to stay at our place, said Luke wanted to catch up.”

“And?” 

“And he took me up on it. Even thanked me when he left the next morning. You landed a couple hours later.”

Rory stares at her hands and lets it sink in. The thought of Jess, here, at peace with her mother of all people seems so strange, but completely reasonable at the same time, and there’s a tiny sense of triumph in her chest, like finally getting to be right about something important.

“Have you talked to him at all?” Lorelai asks.

“No.”

“Still haven’t learned you can be the one picking up the phone, huh?”

Ouch. Lorelai’s told her this before, pushed her towards the radical, daring her. Rory always figured it was meant to discourage her, faced with the monumentality of the prospect, now, after everything, she thinks maybe it’s something else, a push into an adventure, any adventure. Or possibly just a choice.

Lorelai heads to the Inn a little while later and Rory goes back to bed. Just before she falls asleep she thinks about why she hasn’t called, why she’s been grateful that he hasn’t either. She knows why, but it’s still too big for her to put into words, she’s not done with whatever it is she’s doing here. She doesn’t know where to start, not yet. She sleeps until after lunch, when her alarm lets her know she should go to work too.

After her shift she walks back slowly, not in any rush to get anywhere. She passes Stars Hollow High, her old reading tree has been replaced with a new, smaller one. She'd be depressed about it if that wasn’t sort of what schools do. The big doors to the entrance are wide open and there’s a sound from several machines, possibly polishing floors, cleaning in preparation for the first day of school. She takes a few steps up the stairs and peeks inside, the corridor is just the same: worn wax floors, walls in unassuming yellow, lockers the same, but repainted since she last saw them. The glass cabinet containing medals and other honors awarded to the school glimmers down the hall. She steps inside, excusing it with Lorelai having mentioned a hilarious picture of Luke in track-shorts. Her footsteps echo in a familiar yet new way, she’s rarely been alone in this place, only felt it occasionally. She reaches the cabinet and finds the picture, hidden behind some of the older trophies, and laughs silently before noticing that he looks eerily like Jess and that is another weird rabbit hole.

She shakes her head, and catches sight of her own name. It’s a framed piece of paper, a short letter announcing Rory Gilmore winning the teen category of a now closed down Hartford paper’s poetry competition, theme: America, and that she’s awarded a publication of the piece in the paper and a number of coupons for a restaurant chain which closest filial used to be in Woodbridge - Rory actually remembers Lorelai repeatedly driving there for take-out during her first year at Chilton, but had forgotten why. She chuckles, and lowers her gaze to the poem in question, cut out from the paper and stuck beneath the announcement.

_ The Empire State Building _

I get off the bus and wave goodbye

Get on a subway to head for the sky

It raises me up 

to the highest top

And all of the land 

can fit in my hand

The buildings are titans, one rooftop each

I try to touch them but can not reach 

What I wanted to find was a space of my own

I never expected to feel so alone

So there it is, that’s just my luck

I wanted to go here but seems now I’m stuck 

There’s no one up here keeping the score 

Making it useless to reach for more

Someone has built this mountain before

Stories ago I got overgrown

I could see nothing but what I was shown

But maybe it’s better to simply be known

Here I can breathe but never be found

A higher road no more than solid ground.

The only thing out there is the way to fall

I am still hopeless, helpless and small

I can see everything but that is all

She blushes all the way to her hair roots when reading her own words. She remembers writing it, being too busy to really get into it, doing it mainly because Milton wanted her to, having fun, but finally trading perfect for done. Milton’s words from one of her lessons come loose in her head, dusty from not being thought of for a while; Poetry is the attempt to make raw, unreasonable truth passable to the human senses. Breaking it down in rhythms, making it rhyme. Rhyme and reason. 

Rory liked it here too, her oldest school. Her cheeks still burn but she lifts her head and smiles at the text. Her vague reflection faces her in the glass, and her lips move when she makes a list in her head. Then she hurries back to the house to dig up a couple things.

**August 28, 2008**

She’s in the kitchen, table covered in catalogues, and handwritten lists, deep in plans, when the door is opened and Lorelai enters. She stops and stares.

“What are you-?” She shakes her head and smiles brightly at Rory. “Nevermind, carry on.”

“Mom, I wanna tell you.”

Lorelai sits down opposite her. Rory folds up one catalogue after another and stacks them neatly at the edge of the table, placing her lists on top of them. Then she leans on her arms toward Lorelai. 

“I was so busy, I couldn’t stop, had to keep going from sheer momentum. And I would have kept going, if grandpa hadn’t gotten sick-”

Lorelai opens her mouth but Rory holds up a hand.

“I would have kept going not knowing what I was doing, not feeling any of the stuff I’d worked so hard to achieve. Now… I don’t know what I wanna do. But I think that’s okay. I’m gonna stay like that for a bit. Reading, writing, figure out what I wanna use this big beautiful education for.”

Lorelai smiles.

“Sounds neat.”

“And mom…”

“Yeah?”

She hasn’t called Jess for a lot of reasons. Some bad - he’s just out of a relationship, he should take the first step - some good - they are friends, she knows it, and not talking for a while doesn’t change that - and some she hasn’t made up her mind about;

“I haven’t called him because-” She pauses for a second, feels ridiculous for saying what she’s saying, but feels she sort of have to, like with the poetry, to make it comprehensible. “If I go back, if I see him- It’ll be forever.”

Lorelai reacts exactly as one might expect, with laughter. She squeezes Rory’s arm.

“The things you crazy kids say.”

“I’m serious.”

“Honey, you have no way of knowing that.” 

“And I still do.” Rory’s voice only shakes a little.

Lorelai looks at her, smile fading slightly while she mouths okay, then she smiles again, warmly, kind of like she’s agreeing to disagree.

“Well, don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of chances to screw things up.”

Rory laughs, as much from surprise as relief, just to tell her mother, her silly little words.

There’s a ruckus as Luke enters the kitchen, arms full of bags of food. He says hi and starts cooking, Lorelai heads upstairs to shower and change. Rory gets up and starts clearing and setting the table. She stops mid-motion as she thinks of something.

“I guess you’ll be going to Philadelphia next week?” She asks Luke.

Luke turns at her words, frowning, she clarifies automatically.

“To celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

It dawns on her. Jess hasn’t told anyone.

“Nevermind.” She says, and hurries into her old room to gather herself and her thoughts. 

It only takes a few seconds, then she looks up the number online. She’s too excited to be nervous as she dials the number. Now she knows where to start.

* * *

**September 1, 2008**

He considered not going, is pretty sure whoever he told at Truncheon has forgotten about it, he’s probably off the hook. But then there’s that thought on follow-through again. Giving up, not showing up, not finishing what you start, it’s such a Liz thing, a Jimmy thing. He can’t be like that, not even to just himself. Plus there was that little, sweet voice in the back of his head, a familiar one, but one he’s been cutting off the last couple of weeks because the sound of it made him want to dissolve into atoms. That’s part of it too, maybe if he does this it will finally leave him alone. 

So. He drives back to New York so early it’s still dark. He’s taking the test in Brooklyn, just a few blocks from Fort Greene.

In pauses between sections he inadvertently thinks about his old school, so often ignored for the public library just around the corner. And he thinks of his old building, that might be better on the inside but still looks like shit, and how this neighborhood used to be just as bad. He thinks of the East Village, Jersey, Queens, Bushwick, Greenwich. He thinks about the other places so he doesn’t think of Nicks’s apartment a few blocks south. But because he’s trying, he can’t help it of course. And his mind wanders to Rory, her hands, her eyes, her voice, and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself, like has for the past two weeks, can’t do this here or anywhere. 

When he’s done he’s exhausted. He buys water and a sandwich from the vending machine, hasn’t eaten since he forced down breakfast, he gets the tuna kind, that way he’ll have to eat within an hour to stop it from going bad. He exits the building. It’s getting dark. He takes a breath of the finally slightly cooler air, and lights a cigarette. Someone clears their throat and he turns prepared to defend his bad habit. 

Nicks is sitting on the steps. He stares at her for a good few seconds before getting it together.

“Hi.” His voice comes out breathless.

“Hi.”

She takes a gulp from her coffee cup, then gets up and tosses the container in a waste bin next to the steps. She walks the few steps to him.

“How d’you do?”

He stifles a surprised chuckle.

“Fine.”

She nods.

“Good. You deserve to get what you want.”

He looks at her, searching for sarcasm, sharpness, there isn’t any. He shakes his head.

“Jess, what you did was bad.” She says.

He forces himself to look at her, to take it like a man. She looks him straight in the eye. 

“But, I’ve done the same thing, and worse, to others, plural, and it hasn’t even been for any good reasons, it’s been ’cause I was bored, or even just to be cruel.”

She reaches into his pocket and takes out his pack of cigarettes.

“When we’d just gotten together, I called Tyler.”

Tyler Bergen, legendary asshole from Nick’s private school and her partner in crime throughout her teens. Nicks picks out a cigarette and his lighter, then hands him the package back.

“We went out, got drunk, went back to his place and fucked.”

He feels nothing, it’s too incomprehensible, too far from reach. It has nothing to do with him.

“Okay.” He musters the word to be polite, she’s earned that.

“I woke up the next day sick to my stomach and told him about it, about everything. He said he was happy being my sledgehammer.” She laughs, coldly. “He really did get me.”

“Nicks-”

She gestures vividly to shut him up and he does. Then she lights her cigarette.

“I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel bad- okay, maybe a little bit-” She takes a drag. “I’m telling you ‘cause it was a teachable moment for me. I could’ve panicked and backed away, ditched you, kept dancing with Tyler, thinking everything was meant to fall apart, that every good thing I did for myself was corrupted anyway, or I could try to make it all make sense. My entire life just-” She sighs sharply. “I don’t think my dad spent one moment thinking about me other than like some anecdote, so everything that happened to me, that I did to myself was just senseless cruelty. But when Tyler said that, I finally got it. I had to make an actual choice. And I did.” 

She falls quiet, looks at him for the first time since she’s started speaking, eyes shiny. His cigarette has burned down to its filter and he stubs it out on the sidewalk with slow, deliberate movements, grateful for something to do. He puts it back into the package.

“Have you talked to her?”

“No.” His answer is immediate, even if her voice has kept him up at night.

She scoffs, and a cloud of smoke is pushed from her mouth.

“Figures.”

“Why do you say that?”

She looks at him again, and the first hint of hostility is visible in her face.

“You think I don’t know you, just ‘cause you never open your mouth voluntarily? I know you Jess.” She drops her cigarette and steps on it with jagged motions, grinding it into the pavement with her heel, until there’s nothing left but dust. “You know, right after, at first, I hated you-” 

He braces himself for her to tear into him, but she laughs. He blinks.

“-and then I thought, that’s a first.” She goes on talking, slower. “See, it turns out I had changed. You changed my life, not by doing something but by just being a choice I could make, a choice I made. And I really don’t want to go back to what I was before, that’s why I’m here.” She pauses, before speaking again, eyes to the ground, gesturing to keep the pace. “You make it mean something. You don’t chuck it up to senseless cruelty. You turn it into something good, you’re a writer, it’s what you do.” She takes a shaky breath and looks at him. “If you wind up in the same place you were when I first found you- I don’t want that for you, but mostly I don’t want that for me, to not have made a difference in your life like you have in mine.”

“Nicks, I don’t-” He starts. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to tell you, what you want to hear. He feels the words in sequence, waiting to exit his mouth, but he holds them back, they do nothing for her.

She looks at him, still.

“You’re in love with her.”

Willfully, stubbornly. His head goes quiet. It’s not a question per se, more a statement, but he answers automatically anyway.

“Always have been,” he’s relieved to tell her the truth, depleted, but relieved, “tried not to, didn’t take. I don’t know how to get around it. But I thought-”

“You thought that maybe you didn’t have to be alone for the rest of you life, just ’cause you loved someone who didn’t love you back.”

He looks at her, tries to be grateful for her understanding but it’s not exactly cathartic in the flagellant way he prefers.

“I thought I could handle it better, I thought I could handle it.”

“I get it.” She smiles. “You care about her even when you can’t be with her.” It’s a sad, absent smile. “But it turned out she loved you back.”

He can’t answer, doesn’t trust his voice, he reaches for her hand instead. She lets him hold on to it, just for a second, then pulls back, puts it in her pocket, goes on.

“Just because you did this bad thing doesn’t mean you are bad, got it?”

He feels like crying, hasn’t felt like that in a long time.

“Why are you saying this? You don’t need to-.”

“I know.” She shrugs. “Maybe I don’t wanna sabotage a relationship that’s beneficial to my life, to my writing, y’know, a writer is essentially a spy-”

“Sexton.”

“The Black Art.” She confirms and gives him his lighter back. “Maybe I’m just trying to make sure you don’t do this to someone else.“ She shifts her weight. “Maybe I wanna be good, the bigger person.” She looks at him, almost pleading. “Or maybe I just want the upper hand. Would that be so bad?” 

He smiles despite himself.

“No, it would be okay.”

She stares at the ground.

“And. I think you need to be seen, even if it’s by someone you’ll never see again.”

“We’ll still-”

She nods.

“But I can’t think about that now.” 

She backs up a couple of steps. He needs to tell her before she leaves. He raises his voice.

“I am sorry, Nicks. I never meant to-”

She holds up a hand.

“I know you didn’t. And if she hadn’t shown, you would’ve stayed with me.” She lets out a dry laugh. “Lucky me.”

He swallows, she sticks out her chin.

“Seems fair she came and took what was hers.”

She turns and takes a few steps toward the pedestrian crossing. She stops there, waiting for the light to go green. When it does she turns back to him, and waves. He returns the gesture and she crosses the street. 

He looks after her until she’s out of his sight. When he breathes it’s like it’s the first time for a long while. He’s dizzy, and sits down on the steps, wolfing down his sandwich in minutes. He drinks his water. Then he gets going. 

He’s been closed off since climbing down that fire escape, has chosen to be for a multitude of reasons. He’s just been working, staying at Truncheon - his own tiny apartment is sublet and the contract doesn’t expire for a couple of months. Matt and Chris know what’s happened, but he hasn’t talked about it since informing them and they know him well enough to not approach him about it when he’s like this. Walking to his car he feels light, though, and that’s rare for him under any circumstances. He unlocks the vehicle and looks at the pale stars above him before getting in. He turns the key, leaves the city and just like that, his heart races again.

The inside of his head is howling. How long has it been? What have you been doing? Chickening out. Last time he and Rory did this they dove right in. In hindsight maybe it wasn’t their smartest move but still; They had guts, or she had guts. Sure, he had done what he could to break everything keeping them apart, but it’s easy playing rough when you’re playing the wrecking game, not really expecting to make it out on the other side. On the bridge, that was all her, being honest. She’s like that, she reaches a certain point and then she’s in it, balancing the rubble, building something, even if it’s destined to fall apart. It’s not too rough for her. He’s fairly sure that if he hadn’t failed to catch her, to meet her halfway, to open up and show how invested he was, they wouldn’t have fallen apart. She’s brave and he often forgets to give her credit for that, most people do.

He drives fast and allows himself to think of her for the first time in weeks. His grip on the wheel tightens as he hears her voice in his head and actually listens to it, to the last words she said to him, relives the feeling of them, of her. He can make her say them again, he has to. 

Everything that’s happened is suddenly real to him, all of it. What has he been doing for the last weeks? Part of him was so used to dreaming about her like that that it was easy to file what happened away as just another fantasy. What if she-? He nearly panics at the validity of the idea; It’s one of her more impressive traits, her ability to move on.

He processes his plan of action to get from here to her while he’s driving. She’s in Stars Hollow, has to be. That’s what this time under the same roof has done to them; He feels like he needs her within reach first of all, maybe he’ll know what to say then. He almost turns around at the next exit but realizes he has her number on his phone. Him showing up out of the blue hasn’t exactly worked in their favor this far. Maybe a more temperate approach is better, more balanced. But calling her..? Does he have anything besides needs and ill-informed actions? He only has to think about it for a few moments before knowing that he does have words, they’re pretty plain, true. 

He doesn’t turn around, but can’t keep going in the opposite direction from where she is without having tried to reach her. He stops by a gas station, gets out and leans on the car, and turns on his phone. There’s a voice mail from Luke and a missed call from Chris that he ignores, instead clicking his way through his phonebook. He’s deadly nervous all at once but hits dial anyway. Can we sit down? He shakes his head, he’s too anxious to sit. Two signals. How does he even start this conversation? As long as he doesn’t stay quiet; She needs to know it’s him, he’s there. Her voice mail. He listens to her message, heart beating faster at the sound of her chipper voice. This is Rory Gilmore. Sorry I missed you. Leave a message. The beep. 

“Hey, it’s me.” He takes a breath. “I love you. I need you to know that. Maybe it’s too late. Call me back anyway. I just, wanna talk to you.”

A couple of seconds pass while he struggles to end the call. He finally does and gets back into the car driving the rest of the way.

By the time he’s in Philadelphia it’s late. He parks by Truncheon while walking from the car. He reaches the door to the building and tries calling again, sticking the phone between his cheek and his shoulder while getting out his keys. He pushes the door open and heads to the entrance to the office while the signals go through. He gives up on opening the door momentarily and leans on the wall when he gets her voice mail again, doing his best to quell the panic at the valid thought of her just choosing not to answer his call. He should’ve driven to Connecticut. He hangs up, takes a breath and lifts the key, it seems heavier than before. He turns the key, pushes the handle down and opens the door.

The space is full of people, and light, voices. He drops the phone, the key. Time slows down, embarrassing moments of confusion before Matt comes up and puts his arm around him and starts leading the crowd in For He's a Jolly-Good Fellow. Jess looks at the faces. There’s mostly Truncheon people, the ones he likes best, writers, people who do business with them- And Luke. Remember to breathe, his uncle is here, how-? 

And then blue. Next to Luke, Rory. She’s here. Her expression tentative, eyes wide. It’s first at the sight of her that he smiles. And she immediately mirrors it. 

The song transforms into more cheering and people start making their way toward him to shake his hand, to congratulate him, on him getting his GED, since he didn’t finish High School in the first place. Shit. He knew there was a reason he only seemed to mention it to people if he had to, and now-

This is a Matt idea if he ever saw one, that guy is getting an earful later. But now… Now it’s too late to do anything but be happy and grateful that all these people came to celebrate. He shakes his head, smiling, and graciously accepts everyone’s congratulations. It’s chaotic, but nice, most people share some anecdotes on their high school experience and a few even got their GED the same way he did or turns out to be planning to. 

He glances in the direction of Luke and Rory and breathes easier when he sees them still there; talking to a writer, and a bartender from The Hatter, Rory leaning slightly on Luke. She’s in a striped, sleeveless dress, pretty, casual. He’s not feeling it himself, but is overwhelmed by all the people, all the attention, that doesn’t seem to fade. He does surprise himself though, making conversation, accepting a beer from Chris, not freaking out, acting like this is all to be expected, like he deserves it.

Luke and Rory seem to make an effort to let the other guests have a moment with Jess first, but he looks at them, at her, distracted. He’s not in the mindset for this, he’s in the mindset for her, he has to make this stop, so, he does the unthinkable: He takes up his keys and clanks them against his beer bottle for attention. It’s rare, maybe even unheard of, for him to do this voluntarily but now it’s just a way to get on with it. People do turn around, form an awkward crescent around him, and fall silent. 

“Listen,” he starts, big smirk on, “I don’t see what the big deal is. I just unfucked myself.”

People start laughing, some start booing. He holds out his hands.

“But I appreciate you being here! Matt-” He turns to his friend. “I never would’ve thought to do this-”

Matt waves his hands, shakes his head. 

“Woah man! I didn’t either, to be honest I’d kinda forgotten what date it was.” He covers his face in a dramatic gesture, and people laugh harder, then: “This is all Rory.”

Jess stops smiling. That he didn’t see it. He looks at her, along with the rest of the room. Her eyes shimmer, and her face is red, but she looks at him, smiles a little. He’s having trouble composing himself, and plasters on a grin in desperation.

“I guess I should’ve known, miss valedictorian.”

She shrugs, feigns confidence in her adorable way.

“You’re getting slow in your old age.”

He laughs, genuinely, and she beams. He has to get to her.

“Thank you.” He says.

She nods at him. He has to finish this.

“Most people do this when they’re younger, and I don’t- I don’t really know why I bothered doing it now-” Why is he being sincere all of a sudden, he was doing so well? “I mean, there’s a ton of practical reasons, but it never felt like a practical decision to me. It just seemed stupid that I hadn’t before-” He could be here all night, he makes eye contact with Chris, trying to signal distress. “So, all of you turning up kinda caught me by surprise. But I’m glad you did. And it makes me think, maybe what stopped me back then, can’t take me now.” He looks at Rory, she’s listening intently and he kind of loses it, talks without paying attention to himself. “And I guess that’s worth filling a room over. And just because I didn’t plan this myself, you being here, like this, doesn’t mean I didn’t-”

“Control your poet!” Chris hoots at Matt who starts laughing, along with a few others.

“Jess Mariano, valedictorian of Truncheon High, everyone!” Matt yells, and people start clapping. 

Chris turns up the music and people start moving through the room again, this time without making a line up to him. But Matt pulls him into a hug, and he exhales.

“Thanks man.” He says.

“Hey, you were tail-spinning.”

“Let this be a lesson, you ever want me to do any kind of verbal work I’m gonna need prep time.”

“Noted.” Matt clanks his beer to his, then points to the corner. “You okay with this? Blink twice if you want me to get you out of it.”

Jess smiles, and meets Matt’s eyes without blinking once.

“Okay, what does that mean?” Matt says after a couple of seconds.

“It’s your system.“ Jess says. “Figure it out.”

Matt sighs.

“It was cool of her to call, make this happen.” He pauses. “You should go talk to her.”

“On it.”

Jess heads to the corner. And as soon as he’s in front of Luke and Rory it’s not enough either. He reaches for words, Rory rescues him:

“Hi.”

Simple, easy. He smiles.

“Hi.” Then turns to Luke. “Hi.”

“Oh boy.” Luke sighs.

“I tried-” Jess starts at Rory, but doesn’t finish. 

There’s too much to say, and stuff that doesn’t really require words but privacy, and Luke is right there. He sends a quiet thanks to her for not telling Liz. He doesn’t quite know what would’ve been worse; His mother showing up or not.

“So. Congratulations are in order.” Luke steps closer and hands him an envelope.

“What is this?”

“Traditionally I guess it would be a contribution to a car or your college fund but-”

“Luke-” 

Jess tries handing it back, but Luke refuses it.

“I don’t know, put it to something of use to your future, I won’t interfere in what, you seem to be pretty much on top of things.”

Jess snorts.

“Well, appearances can be deceiving.”

“You’re doing good. I’m proud of you, so- Just let me give you this something, alright? I didn’t even know you were-”

Jess feels bad.

“Sorry, it was kind of a need-to-know-thing. And I didn’t wanna tell people in case it didn’t pan out-” He’s spiralling, again, so he raises the envelope and waves it around. “See? Here.” He puts it in his lining pocket.

Luke nods, content. Silence settles between them momentarily.

“Nice speech.” Rory says. 

Luke snickers, and Jess points a finger at her.

“I’m holding you responsible.”

She smiles.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

He stares at her.

“I’ll think of something.”

She laughs, eyes gleaming, and he has trouble breathing again. Luke clears his throat.

“I’m gonna-” He looks around, points to another corner. “-go talk to that other old guy.”

He heads off. They remain, facing each other. He needs to touch her. Eric Burdon’s voice streams from the speakers, Matt is obsessed with The Animals. The baristas from the coffee shop are moving to the music. 

“We should dance.” He says.

We should? His head echoes. Yes, he insists, because there was something else involving high school he was meant to do, that he didn’t follow through on. Back then he wasn't particularly looking forward to dancing, mainly because he didn’t know how to, but he was looking forward to making her happy.

“We should?” She’s surprised.

He nods and takes hold of her. He means to do it properly but discovers that despite his will he still doesn’t know any steps, so he winds up with hands around her waist holding her close, moving in some kind of rhythm. She’s surprisingly graceful, all that schooling, moving, dancing, socializing has rid her of her inner klutz. She is a dream to lead even for an unskilled dancer like himself, which is probably the point. The ladies are taught to accommodate any idiot who couldn't be bothered to learn the moves. He aches a little at the thought. His grip on her tightens and he puts some more gusto into his steps, to give her something to hold onto. It’s a good song. She puts her hands around his shoulders, her cheek to his. 

“You did this for me.” He says.

She chuckles.

“I thought I did it to you.”

“Just ‘cause a tradition disagrees with me doesn’t mean I don’t see its benefits.”

She pulls her face back a bit, and gives him a glare that just makes him want to kiss her. Fortunately he doesn’t, he’d have no way of stopping, circumstances be damned. It never stops.

“I did say I loved you, didn’t I?” She says. “Just ‘cause you-” She interrupts herself and goes red again.

“Just ‘cause I what?” He says, out of breath from just hearing the words again.

“Just ‘cause you were inside me at the time doesn’t invalidate it or anything.” She mutters.

It’s real, it really happened. He’s been wanting the confirmation since waking up with her that morning. He moves a hand from her back up to her cheek.

“Okay.” 

His own voice sounds strange from elation, he has to get her alone. He looks around, but sees no way out, so he presses her closer instead, and she gives a little soft gasp. He can’t tell the difference between their heartbeats anymore, the one in his chest, the one under his hand on her skin. He needs to know how long he gets to keep her.

“Are you staying or going?” He asks.

Her eyes start glittering.

“Actually, I’m looking into going back to school. Get my masters, get my bearings. Turns out I really like school.” She smiles warmly, softly.

He exhales, taken and frustrated, still smiling though. She raises her eyebrows.

“But you meant now, tonight.”

He nods.

“I’d like to stay tonight, if that’s okay, anywhere is fine.”

“I’ll think of something.” He drags his knuckles down her spine and she sighs, a tad trembling. “So, if you’re going back to school-” He starts, she interrupts:

“If I start from Stars Hollow, it's more than 22.8 miles, more like 200 miles, I’ve googled it. I might exaggerate a bit, but…” She pauses and puts her cheek to his again. “I somehow don’t think it matters to us.” She finishes, lips moving against his neck.

He inhales, feels like he’s going to lose it, so he decides to keep clinging to words.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

There’s a pause. 

“Jess, can we skip the apologies?” She pulls her face back and looks at him. “I think we’ve had enough excuses.” She stops moving and stands still. “About your speech-”

“You mean my rambling?”

She laughs quietly, and nudges him to start moving again, he obeys, albeit a little distracted.

“Yeah.” She says. “Did you mean what you said about things being different now?”

“I hope they are. I think so.” He did finish it, school, and he is dancing with Rory, finally. “I haven’t changed my mind about you though.” He puts his lips to her jawline, and she leans heavier on him. “I don’t think I ever will.”

She exhales.

“I haven’t changed my mind about you either. And that’s my point; This thing, I’m done being sorry about it, ‘cause it stops me from looking at it and seeing it for what it is, I don’t wanna miss out on it anymore.”

He pulls back his face and stares at her. You deserve to get what you want. You make it mean something. You don’t chuck it up to senseless cruelty. Nicks wasn’t talking about just herself. Being sorry is not enough, emotions don’t matter unless you act on them. He has to live his life forward. That’s the way of righting what he’s done wrong, owning up to what he wants, making it meant to be. Willfully, stubbornly.

“You’re right.” He mumbles. “I knew this would happen-” He shakes his head. “I fucking knew it as soon as I saw you, I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.” He leans his forehead to hers. “I’m done second guessing myself.”

“Me too.” She whispers.

The song has changed, The Staples, Chris has apparently taken back control. Jess can’t bear to part from Rory, so he starts moving with a purpose again, dancing being the only acceptable reason for standing so close together, at least this early during a party.

“About five hours driving, without catastrophic traffic.” He mumbles.

“One hour by plane.”

“Three door to door.”

She chuckles.

“Ever the optimist.”

“Trying to keep it real.” He makes eye contact. “I want it to be real.”

“It is.” She confirms, and then puts her cheek to his again. “Hey, I’ve picked a book for you.” 

He exhales, with a surprised smile.

“For the book club?” 

“Yeah. It’s The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.” 

He laughs. 

“I never would’ve picked that book.” 

She shakes her head. 

“You just don’t know you like I do.”

He holds her tighter, stroking his face to hers until they’re facing each other. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, lips just an inch apart.

“Rory,” he says, letting himself hear it and smile at the sound.

“Jess,” she says right before he kisses her, or maybe it’s just an affirmation.

**September 2, 2008**

It’s hours later. Dawn is breaking outside the open window, and they’re in bed together, in the guest room above Truncheon. Luke drove back and Rory had to say no thanks to a lift, cheeks red. Not that she needed to, it was clear Luke was just asking to be polite. 

They’ve had each other a few times already including once in the miniscule shower, where he managed to stub his toe and still kept going because she begged him not to stop. He’s made her happy and let her do the same for him. She has fallen asleep, body wrapped around his, one of her legs gloriously across his hip. He feels like he could sleep too, but holds himself awake for this, being full, filled by the moment, by the person he’s with. 

He should rest, it won’t be long until he’s overtaken with wanting her again, he already feels it, a low hum, or she wakes up and jumps him. He laughs silently at the thought, his body aching for all the right reasons, and takes a shaky breath from being so damn happy. 

There’s a distant crack and rumble that goes on and on and continues, as rain starts falling, hammering the window sill, street below, roof above. It’s a violent, loudly tapping roar, and cool air start climbing into the room, for the first time in months. She moves in her sleep, strokes a hand down his arm and rolls her hip softly against his side, makes a cooing sound. 

He thinks about two years ago. Two years, five months, six hours. The door closing behind her. He shivers slightly, and wraps the sheet over the both of them. Truncheon is silent, but it’s like the voices of all the people still linger. And her voice, she’s been here now and he’ll never unsee it. He thinks about how they’ve reinvented time tonight, how he’ll have to start counting from a new point in it starting now. 

He goes to sleep, but not for long. The next day has already begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paraphrased poetry by Richard Siken “Litany in which certain things are crossed out” once again.


End file.
